


Lover

by EternalAgape



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Don't copy to another site, Hurt/Comfort, I actually made their program layouts and calculated their scores, Inspired by Music, M/M, Makkachin with a Flower Crown, Misunderstandings, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, The GPF is the same, so it’s basically a rewrite of the series, then this picks up from there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalAgape/pseuds/EternalAgape
Summary: After the disastrous Grand Prix Final, Yuuri’s boyfriend breaks up with him.  An invitation to train in Russia for the summer seems like just what he needs to get out of his funk – but he never expected to fall in love with Viktor Nikiforov or make himself a top contender for the next skating season in the process.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 164
Kudos: 490
Collections: Inspired by Music





	1. I Forgot that You Existed

**Author's Note:**

> Things you should know:  
> Chapters will be posted every 2-3 days. Just a heads up that the length of the chapters varies a LOT since I had specific moments in mind for each chapter/song. You don’t need any knowledge of Taylor Swift’s music to enjoy this fic. That being said…if you do happen to have heard the song for each chapter, see if you can pick out which moments are most connected to the music! If you haven’t heard any of the songs, I highly encourage you to listen to at least Lover and The Archer to get a good feel for those chapters (plus they are gorgeous songs).
> 
> I realize Makka is officially a boy through one version of the anime, but…Makka turned out to be a girl for this. Oops?
> 
> Also, all of the the skating layouts were done according to the current scoring system because I forgot this was supposed to take place in 2016, aka before the new scoring system…oops? They are accurate for today’s skating, though! (Although hardly anyone would be able to keep up.)

He didn’t see the breakup coming. At all.

Things had been fine before the Grand Prix Final. Matt was a sweet boyfriend, always calling to wish him luck or congratulating him on a victory. He came to the rink to watch Yuuri’s practices, and if he took a lot of selfies of them together, it was just because of how much they liked each other.

He was kind to Yuuri’s friends, even if there was only Phichit. Matt would come over to dinner, and they would all chat about skating. Although Matt wasn’t a skater himself, he followed it religiously and always asked about their international skater friends.

He might have even been more excited than Yuuri when he qualified for the Grand Prix Final. He kept talking about how Yuuri was such a good skater and this was his big break, and pretty soon, he’d medal at the World Championships, and in a few years, the Olympics!

And then Vicchan had died. It was the night before the free program, and Yuuri had finished last the following day.

Matt didn’t call that night. He didn’t call until three days later, asking when Yuuri would be coming back to Detroit. He wasn’t happy to hear that the answer was “after Japanese Nationals” so that Yuuri could spend some time with his family. (And mourn, but Matt didn’t seem to care about that.)

Yuuri pulled himself together for Nationals, but not well enough. A fourth-place finish was respectable, but not enough to go to Four Continents or the World Championships. For Yuuri, the season was over.

That was not the only thing that was over, apparently. The day the team for Worlds was announced, which also happened to be the day Yuuri was flying back to Detroit, Matt called.

He left Yuuri a short message – perhaps the shortest one Yuuri had ever received, and its length contrasted horribly with its contents.

“Hey Yuuri, it’s Matt. Listen, I think we should break up. This long-distance thing is hard, and you’re just not the kind of guy I thought you were. Tell Phichit I say hi.”

And that was it.

[Lover]

Four and a half months later, Yuuri was tired. He was _so damn tired_. His legs hurt so badly that he cringed when he walked, making him rethink all those repetitions of triple loop combinations that inevitably ended with him on his butt. His stomach hurt from the excessive number of crunches he did – _why did he do that to himself?_

Maybe worst of all, his mind was tired. He was tired of thinking about Matt and wasting so much mental energy on him. The more he thought about him, the harder he pushed himself in training to forget about what had happened, but it hadn’t worked.

And now Yuuri was left with a mind full of poisoned memories, an aching body, and a bruised butt. _Great_.

What Yuuri didn’t know was that all thoughts of Matthew Greyson would be expelled from his mind by a single envelope postmarked from Russia.

He had gotten home from training before Phichit, which was frankly a miracle. Yuuri had been staying so late at the rink lately that Phichit was often asleep when he returned to their apartment, leaving Yuuri to quietly scrounge up a small dinner in their kitchen before tiptoeing into their shared bedroom in total darkness. Today, though, Yuuri had overdone it in training, and the apartment was quiet due to its vacancy rather than the hour. After carefully stowing his skate bag beneath his bed and taking a shower, he found himself standing in their kitchen wondering exactly what he was doing.

It had been weeks since he had any free time – that was by design, of course. If he had no free time, he couldn’t think about Matt (or at least, that was what he had hoped). Finding himself now with hours to kill and nothing to do, he felt lost.

A look around the apartment found nothing to clean – Yuuri was hardly ever home to make a mess, and Phichit was impeccably clean despite his eclectic personality. It was nearly five in the evening, so he would need to make dinner soon. What else did Phichit normally take care of around the apartment?

The plants needed watering (well, plant – and it was struggling to survive as it was). Check. The trash could be taken out – check. The mail – he would need to go down and check the mail.

Yuuri trudged down the stairs, his legs protesting every step, the cold mailbox key in his hand. He could have taken the elevator, but they only lived on the second floor. He would have felt silly doing that, and on a normal day, he didn’t mind the extra exercise twenty-four steps gave him.

At the bottom of those twenty-four steps was a bank of gray metal mailboxes. Quickly finding his own and inserting the key, he pulled out the small stack of envelopes. No packages today, which was a good sign – Phichit had a bad habit of buying unnecessarily extravagant toys for his hamsters, but then again, Yuuri couldn’t blame him; he was responsible for the large care packages that Vicchan received every month.

 _Had_ received.

And that was another thing that Yuuri was actively trying to avoid thinking about as he forced his way back up those twenty-four steps again. His mind was engaged in a game of ping-pong, its two players the memories he didn’t want to think about, two things that made his heart ache in vastly different ways.

So while he slowly made his way up the steps, trying to avoid that heartache and smother it with the ache in his quads instead, he idly flipped through the envelopes. Phichit Chulanont – bill. Phichit Chulanont – Hamster Fancy magazine. Yuuri Katsuki – bill, but would he have enough money to pay for it this month? Phichit Chulanont – an envelope from the Thai Skating Federation excessively decorated with balloons, which likely contained a birthday card. Katsuki Yuuri – a plain envelope postmarked from Russia.

Russia?

Yuuri paused five steps up, shoving the other pieces of mail under one arm as he opened the nondescript envelope. There was no return address, just a postmark in stamped Cyrillic that he couldn’t understand and his name and address scrawled across the back in harsh, pointed handwriting he didn’t recognize. The letter inside was, thankfully, easier to decipher, as it had been typed.

_Dear Katsuki Yuuri,_

_Having watched you skate this season, I feel that you have a significant amount of potential that is being wasted with your current training regimen. I am offering you a berth in our extended summer training program. Should you accept, I expect you to arrive no later than May 15 th. The training program runs until August 25th and concludes with a mock competition. Your programs for next season, unless you have them planned already, will be choreographed during the training program._

_I expect your answer by email no later than April 30 th. If your coach has any issues, he knows how to contact me._

There was no sign off – no “sincerely” or “yours” or “thank you for your time.” There was just a signature with a typed named below it:

_Yakov Feltsman._

Yuuri’s legs finally gave out. He fell to the stairs, somehow managing to catch himself on one before he could tumble the five steps back to the lobby.

That couldn’t be right. Yakov Feltsman? Inviting _him_ to train after the international disaster of a season he had just finished? Impossible.

Maybe Yakov knew how Yuuri would react, and that’s why the letter was typed. This way, Yuuri couldn’t pretend that he had misread the cramped handwriting. Reading it over and over, there was no mistaking it: Yuuri had been invited to train in Russia, and he had to reply by the next day. Not just that – Yuuri had been invited to train with Yakov Feltsman, the coach of _Viktor Nikiforov_.

He was going to die. Or maybe he had already – this had to be a dream, right? That was the only thing that made sense. Nobody would invite him to their elite training camp. The only one Yuuri _ever_ went to was the one for the Japanese National Team – and they _had_ to invite him. Who would _want_ to invite him?

The paper in his hands answered that: Yakov Feltsman, apparently.

There was an email address at the bottom of the letter glaring up at him. _Yakov Feltsman’s email address_.

Oh no. Yuuri started to panic. What was he going to do? He had to decide by _tomorrow_ , and he had to talk to Phichit, and he had to call Celestino, and what would his family say, and who would help Phichit take care of the hamsters, and he couldn’t even speak Russian! How would he survive in Russia for a whole summer?

Yuuri stared at the paper in his hands, a simple white piece of printer paper that could have come from anywhere – but it didn’t, and now he had to call his coach.

Standing up on shaky legs – shaky from the letter, and not from too many loop jumps – he ascended the remaining nineteen steps to his apartment.

Yuuri hesitated as he held his cell phone. Celestino would be at the rink right now; he was still coaching Phichit. Would he be rude to interrupt? This could wait, surely-

Except that it really couldn’t if he needed to email _Yakov Feltsman_ in the next day or else he wouldn’t even be able to _consider_ this opportunity.

So, holding his breath, he kept all his anxieties at bay long enough to press the call button under Celestino’s contact.

“Yuuri?” Celestino answered. He was confused, and Yuuri couldn’t really blame him. Yuuri always texted, after all.

“Hi Coach,” Yuuri said nervously.

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?”

And then the anxieties flooded back – Yuuri hesitated, wondering if he should go or if he wanted to go or if- “I got a letter,” he managed to get out.

“What about?” Celestino prompted, sounding interested but distracted. “Yes, nice! Again, Phichit!” he called, his voice echoing in the background.

“It was from Russia,” Yuuri said. _Should he go did he want to go what if he made a fool of himself he couldn’t even speak Russian and Yakov Feltsman wanted_ -

“Russia?” Celestino no longer sounded distracted, and a muffled “Phichit, hold it for a minute, okay?” through the phone line proved it. “What does someone in _Russia_ want?”

 _He’s right, what would someone in Russia want with a dime-a-dozen Japanese skater who couldn’t even medal at Nationals?_ Yuuri’s anxiety said, but Yuuri had gotten very good at quashing his anxiety for ten second bursts. Ten seconds was all he needed to land a jump, and it was all he needed to say, “Yakov Feltsman wants to coach me.”

The phone line went silent. Yuuri thought he could hear breathing, but he wasn’t positive. “Coach?” No answer. “…Ciao Ciao?”

“Yuuri, could you run that by me again?” Celestino finally replied.

“Uh, I got a letter from Yakov Feltsman. He wants me to attend their extended training program over the summer.” After a second, Yuuri added, “in Russia,” as if it weren’t obvious.

There was that silence again, this time broken by a distant, “Ciao Ciao? Who’s on the phone?” in Phichit’s curious voice.

“Give us a minute, Phichit. Go…go practice your spins or something,” Celestino told him. It was the first time that Yuuri had ever heard Celestino be uncertain when giving a training directive.

Phichit must have skated away since Celestino directed his next words back to Yuuri. “You’ve already accepted, right?”

Yuuri didn’t know how to respond to that. Was Celestino upset? “Uh, not yet.”

“Why not?” his coach asked bluntly.

“Because it’s in Russia, I’d be leaving for three months, I’d be going to a different coach and choreographer to make my programs, and I don’t speak Russian?” Yuuri listed nervously.

“And?”

“And what about Phichit? And what about Phichit’s _hamsters?_ ” Yuuri knew it was a stupid reason as soon as he voiced it aloud; he didn’t need Celestino’s answering laughter to tell him that. “Okay, fine, maybe not the hamsters, but…Russia?”

“Russia. And Yakov Feltsman. And you’re going to get off this phone right now and send that email or else I’m dropping you as my student.”

Of all the things Yuuri had thought Celestino might say, this was _not_ one of them. “…Coach?”

“Yakov has my utmost respect as a coach. I trust that he will take good care of you for as long as you decide to remain with him, and _if_ you ever come back to Detroit, you will always be welcome at my rink.”

 _That_ didn’t help Yuuri’s thought process any. “ _If_?”

“Yuuri, you are the…well, the _safest_ person I know. I know your anxiety gets in the way of a lot of things, and it prevents you from making quick choices. I scouted you for _three years_ before you agreed to move to Detroit. I am telling you _as your coach_ that you need to get off this phone right now and email Yakov Feltsman, or else this will be the biggest regret of your life.”

Celestino had used his Coach Voice, the tone he used when he needed Yuuri to get out of his head and just _do something_ ; and Yuuri, through the years, had conditioned himself to follow the Coach Voice without question. “Okay, Coach,” he said quietly. “I’ll…I’ll go send that email, and then I’ll see you tomorrow at the rink.”

“That’s better. Make sure you tell Phichit when he gets home. I’m sure he’s wondering what this call what about,” Celestino said with a chuckle. “You’re doing the right thing,” his coach said before ending the call.

Yuuri hoped that was true.

[Lover]

Yuuri had no idea how to start the email to a coach he had never met but had respected for more than a decade. Eventually, he decided to be as direct as possible and just get the email sent before he could overthink it.

_Dear Coach Feltsman,_

_I am honored to accept your offer. My graduation ceremony is on May 7 th, so I can arrive any day after that. Please let me know what arrangements I will need to make._

_Thank you very much for this opportunity. I look forward to working with you this summer._

_Sincerely,_

_Katsuki Yuuri_

Yuuri skimmed the email over and pressed send before he could second guess any of his wordings or the situation in its entirety.

There. It was done.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There was no going back now – his decision was made, as surreal as it all was, and he would be going to Russia in two weeks.

He was going to Russia.

In _two weeks._

Oh, hell – he hadn’t even considered how he would pay for all this! For a second, he wondered if he could email Coach Feltsman back and apologize, telling him there was no way he could afford travel, lodging, and coaching fees, let alone what was sure to be the price of two programs by world-class choreographers!

A _ping_ from Yuuri’s email disrupted his spiraling thoughts.

 _Your accommodations will be taken care of. Please review and sign the attached coaching contract._ _-YF_

That was…quick. It had hardly been two minutes since Yuuri had emailed him, and wasn’t it the middle of the night in Russia?

These were questions Yuuri couldn’t answer – or at least not even try to answer until he met Coach Feltsman in just two short weeks.

Curious, Yuuri clicked on the attachment to find a four-page document, already filled in with his personal information.

_Had Coach Feltsman been that sure I would accept?_

The first page was relatively normal: it contained information in both English and Russian about the program, where the rink was located, and the most convenient airports. There were names of hotels and short-term rental locations nearby, as well as a rough schedule of both the summer program as a whole and an example of the day-to-day schedule.

The second page was a form letter with blanks filled in to greet him personally and included additional information on his acceptance into the program.

_ Katsuki Yuuri _ _,_

_We are excited to welcome you to our rink for the Summer 2016 Training Program. The following is a list of the expected expenses you will incur during the summer training program. Actual expenses may vary depending on your personal situation._

_Airfare and Travel Paid_

_Food & Lodging Included at the Rink Dormitory_

_Coaching Fees Paid_

_Choreography Paid_

_Additional Expenses Variable; Please bring spending money in the local currency._

Further down, a line had been added to the document, then scanned back in:

_You have been accepted on scholarship. Your flights will be arranged for you. Expect an email with further specifics the first week of May. -YF_

Wait… _scholarship_? And all these costs – already paid? It just…it didn’t make sense. Coach Feltsman was known as one of the best men’s coaches in the entire world. This should have easily cost him three times as much as he paid for one-on-one coaching with Celestino…but it was covered by some _scholarship_?

This didn’t make sense, but then again, _nothing_ about the day was making sense, so Yuuri continued reading.

The third page contained a list of short biographies of coaches, choreographers, dance instructors, personal trainers, and costume designers that Yuuri was expected to choose from. He set this page aside for now, coming to the final page, which was a dense list of questions for Yuuri to complete about a variety of aspects of his skating, from listing the jumps and combinations he was able to successfully land to describing his mental preparation before competition. It went well beyond the scope of any questionnaire Celestino or the JSF had ever made him complete. At least he had something to do to occupy his evening now.

[Lover]

Phichit arrived home a few hours later – Yuuri had gotten through the majority of his questionnaire, but had somehow forgotten to eat dinner. Oops.

“No worries; I’ll order a pizza,” Phichit said despite Yuuri’s protests that it wouldn’t work with either of their diets. As soon as Phichit got off the phone, pizza on its way to their apartment, he gave Yuuri a knowing look. “I know you called Ciao Ciao today. You _never_ call Ciao Ciao. Now, spill!”

Yuuri had hoped he might have more time to figure out how to tell Phichit he was leaving. He had _also_ hoped that he’d be able to tell him when Phichit was half asleep, or maybe when Phichit was distracted by playing with his hamster children, or maybe on Yuuri’s way to the airport. Instead, Yuuri took a deep breath and let the words tumble out. “I got invited to a summer training program. I leave after graduation.”

“What?!” Phichit screeched. “You’re leaving me?”

“Only for the summer, and then I’ll be back.”

“What kind of training program would be tempting enough to get you to leave me and my poor babies?” Phichit asked, gesturing dramatically toward the hamsters squeaking in agreement in their cage.

“The…the kind in Russia.”

“Russia?”

“With Yakov Feltsman.”

“Yakov…Feltsman…” Phichit repeated, trying to wrap his mind around the situation. “Yuuri. Yuuri! You’re going to train with _Yakov_? Do you know what this means?”

“I’m going to need to learn Russian quickly or else I’ll be stuck just saying yes, hello, and thank you all summer?”

“At least you’d be a polite foreigner,” Phichit pointed out. “No, Yuuri; you get to train with _Viktor Nikiforov_!”

Oh.

_Oh._

Somehow, Yuuri had _forgotten_ that little fact in the day’s turmoil, or maybe it just hadn’t hit him properly. Yakov was Viktor’s coach…and now Yuuri’s, at least for the summer. Naturally, Viktor would need to train, too, and he would need to go where Yakov was to do that…

“Oh my god,” Yuuri whispered.

“You’ll need to call me every day! No, wait, you need to text me every hour! I’ll need all the details. What’s he like? What’s his secret to those glorious silver locks of hair? Best pet owner tips? How often does he train? What does he do to keep his butt that-”

“Phichit!” Yuuri interrupted. “I don’t have to be there for two more weeks. Can we just… _not_ think about it?”

“Not think about it?” Phichit scoffed. “That’s all I’m going to be thinking about now! I can’t believe this. Yuuri, you’re going to have the best summer _ever_!”

Yuuri hoped that would be true.

[Lover]

It occurred to Yuuri the next day that he had somehow managed to not think about Matthew Greyson for a whole afternoon, all thanks to an old, balding Russian man (not that Yuuri would _ever_ describe Coach Feltsman as balding to his face).

It was _wonderful_.

It had been four months of Yuuri thinking about Matt, thinking about what he could have done to salvage their relationship. In four months, he hadn’t come up with anything that didn’t revolve around quitting skating – and Yuuri _couldn’t_ quit skating.

Finally, four months later, skating had given him a reprieve from the ‘what ifs’, even if it was only temporary.

The week leading up to his departure for Russia – Yakov had sent him an itinerary, and he was due to leave the morning after graduation – Yuuri had intermittent thoughts of Matt. They still made him sad, but now he had a new adventure on the horizon: he would be graduating and spending the summer with _Yakov Feltsman_ (and that most certainly still sounded like a fever dream to him).

[Lover]

Graduation day came and went. Although Yuuri was thrilled to finally be completing his degree, he was more excited about boarding a plane the next morning.

Phichit cried – four times, to be exact. He cried first when Yuuri walked across the stage to receive his diploma. He cried a second time when he helped Yuuri close his suitcase that evening. He cried for the third time when Yuuri accidentally bumped into his leg, which was already bruised and hurting from a nasty fall on a jump in practice. Phichit cried for the fourth time the following morning as he waved Yuuri off at the airport gate, muttering something about “There goes the future Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov,” which had Yuuri rolling his eyes at the impossibility.

Thirteen hours later, Yuuri had finally arrived in Saint Petersburg. He had never had an opportunity to travel to Russia before – not for any competition, and certainly not for fun.

As he deboarded the plane, slightly groggy from the nap he had taken on the second flight, he found himself face to face with the legend himself – the _coaching_ legend, that is. (Viktor Nikiforov was only present in the larger-than-life poster celebrating his gold medal at the World Championships that was hung from the wall opposite the gate.)

“Katsuki Yuuri, I am Yakov Feltsman,” the stout man said in a gruff voice, as if he needed any introduction. “I’m pleased you were able to fit this into your training schedule.”

“Coach Feltsman, thank you so much for this opportunity,” Yuuri replied with a deep bow. “I hope I won’t let you down.”

“See to it that you don’t. Now, let’s get you to the dormitories, and then I’ll have one of the other skaters show you around.”

[Lover]

The dormitories were in a building adjacent to the rink. The rooms were small, outfitted with a bed, small desk, microwave and fridge, and an attached bathroom. There was really no place to lounge – but then again, when you’re training with Yakov Feltsman, would someone even have time to lounge?

“Georgi will be over to show you around in about twenty minutes. If you need to buy anything, he can help you find the nearest stores.”

“Thank you, Coach Feltsman!” Yuuri managed to say through his tiredness. It was very early in the morning; if Yuuri hadn’t just arrived, he’d be heading to the rink for a hard day of training at this hour. Instead, Yuuri had the day off (at least Coach Feltsman understood jet lag), and it had been arranged for Georgi to start training a bit later in exchange for helping Yuuri get acquainted to the area.

Coach Feltsman said nothing in reply. He grunted once and showed himself to the door, leaving Yuuri by himself in the sterile dormitory.

The room wasn’t bad at all; once all his belongings were put away, it might even begin to feel like home…except for one thing.

Yuuri had never lived by himself, and going from living with Phichit and his hamster children to living in a dormitory was going to take some adjustment.

Flopping himself onto the bed, Yuuri let his eyes close for just a minute. Just one minute…

There was a hard knock on the door that jolted Yuuri from his light sleep. He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his suitcase and skate bag in his rush to answer the door.

“You alright?” the man on the other side asked in a thick Russian accent, one eyebrow raised as if he doubted the answer would be ‘yes.’

“Uh…” Yuuri began dumbly, wiping his eyes and readjusting his glasses. “Yes, sorry, it’s just…”

“I’m Georgi.” Yuuri was finally able to put a name to the dark-haired man in front of him. “Yakov sent me to show you around.”

“Right, right! Sorry, I laid down and…”

“How long is it from…where _are_ you from?” Georgi asked bluntly.

“Thirteen hours from Detroit, plus the time at the airport…” Yuuri replied sheepishly.

“A long journey, then. We’ll make this quick.” Yuuri nodded eagerly, ducking back into the room to grab a light jacket before following Georgi down the corridor. “This here,” Georgi said, pointing to a room a few doors down the hall, “is my room.”

“Do all the skaters from summer training live here?” Yuuri asked curiously.

“Hardly. The majority of the skaters have taken short-term apartment rentals arranged by the rink. We had a room open, though, and you were a special case.”

_Special case? Oh, right. The scholarship._

“The room next to yours will be vacant for a few more days, so it should be fairly quiet around. A lot of skaters are away right now for ice shows.”

Georgi next led Yuuri to the rink itself. It was nearly vacant with only two skaters beginning their warmup and Yakov sitting in his adjoining office. One wall of the office was made up of clear glass, allowing Yakov to see his skaters even while he was attending to other matters. He nodded at Georgi and Yuuri when they passed.

“The rink opens by 7, but training doesn’t start until 8:30. The rink gets locked by 7 in the evening. If you want to use it any time outside that, you need to talk to Yakov. A few skaters also have keys, and if you coordinate with them, you might be able to use it outside the posted hours,” Georgi explained. “I like to stay later. There’s fewer people after dinner, and you get the space to yourself.” Yuuri nodded, thinking back to his own schedule in Detroit.

Before the breakup (which he had been doing _so well_ in not thinking about, but there go those thoughts again), Yuuri would normally be home by dinnertime. After the breakup, though, Yuuri would stay until 8, 9, or even 10 at night. Celestino had gotten so exasperated with the extended hours that Yuuri had been granted a key within two weeks of his new training pattern, albeit with the warning “Don’t overdo it; we don’t need you getting injured.”

Yuuri could definitely work with the hours the rink was open, and it seemed like it was dedicated more to competitive skaters than the rink back in Detroit. He used to have to schedule practices around the abundant amount of open skate time that helped keep the rink running. Yuuri couldn’t see a schedule for open skate anywhere (not that he would be able to read the words anyway, but he hoped he would be able to recognize a list of times if he saw one).

The tour of the facilities continued, showing Yuuri to the locker rooms and a series of dance studios of varying sizes. Yuuri made note of those – he always danced or skated when he got stressed, and if the rink was busy, a quiet studio would be much easier for him to handle.

Georgi next asked Yuuri what things he usually kept stocked and offered to take him grocery shopping, for which Yuuri was eternally grateful. He never would have been able to figure out what some of the packages contained, and conversing with the cashier would have been a struggle (and Yuuri had never been good at charades).

After their trip to the grocery store – which was more like a crash course in Russian names for food – was finished, Georgi offered to treat Yuuri to coffee. He tried to protest, but it was no use.

“Really, I insist. You got me out of practice, so it’s only fair. Here,” he said, pulling open the door to a small shop tucked away near the rink.

Yuuri ended up with a black tea. He had the barista prepare it for him, giving it a dubious look as he watched her add jam instead of any usual kind of sweetener he had ever tried.

“Never had jam in your tea before?” Georgi asked with a laugh.

“Nope, can’t say I have,” Yuuri replied, looking nervously at the china cup now in his hand. He gave it a sip, and although it was certainly different from his usual tea, it wasn’t bad. He might even grow to like it during his stay.

“So Yuuri,” Georgi began, “tell me about yourself. What’s Detroit like?”

“I haven’t seen all of it,” Yuuri answered honestly. “I was studying to finish my degree, and with training, I didn’t have much of a social life.”

“No girlfriend?” Georgi prompted.

“No, no girlfriend,” Yuuri replied with a laugh.

“Any boyfriends?” Georgi asked with a grin, but it faded as soon as he saw the sad look take over Yuuri’s face. “Oh no. Tell Georgi all about it.”

So Yuuri did. He told Georgi of how Matt was very attentive when it came to skating matters but how quickly he dropped Yuuri as soon as the distance got to be too much.

“Are you sure it was the distance?” Georgi asked with a raised eyebrow.

“What else would it be?”

“You said that he seemed…well, different after the Grand Prix Final.” _After you lost_ , Yuuri’s brain supplied.

“We’d been apart for a while, so I assumed…” Yuuri said, but he began to wonder himself if the distance was all that it was.

“You’re a fantastic skater, Yuuri. Many people would want to attach themselves to you. If I didn’t have my beautiful Anya, and if men did _anything_ for me whatsoever, you’d be pretty high up my list. And if someone were also interested in _successful_ men…”

Yuuri could easily put together the scattered pieces Georgi was leaving him. “That would require me to be a _successful_ skater,” he pointed out, “which I’m not.”

“You’re in Russia, darling. You’re training with the best of the best. Why do you think you’re here? I’ll let you figure it out.” Taking a swig of his remaining coffee, Georgi stood up from their small table. “Let’s get you back to your room. Your day has been way too long already.”

[Lover]

Yuuri had a full week before the official training camp started, but his first coaching session with Yakov was at 8 the following morning. Apparently, Yakov’s consideration for jetlag was limited to one day and one day only.

Having no urge to risk being late, Yuuri was at the rink promptly at 7, coming in just as the door was being unlocked by a rink employee. He stowed his bag in the locker room, beginning his stretching routine.

Yakov marched in around 7:30, just as Yuuri was beginning to warm up on the ice. The old man paused for a moment, watching Yuuri move through his figures, before grunting and retreating to his office. (Yuuri hoped that was a good thing.)

Yuuri moved onto warming up through each of his single jumps, then moving to doubles, spins, and eventually attempting the step sequence that had been included in his program the past season.

Before he knew it, it was time for his coaching session. Yakov was stepping onto the ice, approaching Yuuri from the far side of the rink. “Alright, Yuuri. Tell me what I need to know about you.”

“Um…huh?”

“What do I, as your coach for the foreseeable future, need to know about the skater called Katsuki Yuuri?”

“Didn’t you…didn’t you read my responses to your questionnaire?” Yuuri asked anxiously. He felt exposed, being asked to somehow define Katsuki Yuuri in the middle of an empty ice rink while being stared down by none other than Yakov Feltsman.

“Pah! I read those, but they tell me nothing. Tell me what you know about Katsuki Yuuri.”

“Uh…” What would Yakov need to know? “I’m nothing special, really. I’m pretty average as far as-”

“No,” Yakov interrupted, sounding harsh and demanding. Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“No?”

“Those are things that you _think_. Those are _opinions_. Tell me what you know. I want _facts_!”

Yuuri paused, trying to give the question some consideration. Hadn’t he just given Yakov facts?

But no – Georgi had said yesterday that he was training with the best of the best. Did Yakov think he was good enough?

“I get nervous before competitions,” Yuuri finally said, “and tend to flub my jumps when I need them most. I get easily influenced by my emotions, which can be good or bad depending on what I’m feeling.

“And what about your programs? Your technique? What quads do you have?” Yakov prompted, and if Yuuri didn’t know any better, he’d say his new coach was looking pleased.

“I don’t have my programs for next season yet. I can handle fast step sequences, and the less I think about them in the moment, the better I seem to do. I’ve got pretty good stamina, or at least that’s what Celestino said. I can land a quad toe and a quad salchow in practice, but rarely in competition. The quad toe is much more stable than the salchow. I…” Yuuri paused. It felt stupid to say the next thing compared to quad jumps. “I’ve been working on loop combinations lately. Nothing that seems to flow well yet, but I can land them sometimes.”

Yakov grunted. “Good. I want to see all those things. I watched the step sequence you just practiced. It was the same as the Grand Prix Final, да?” Yuuri nodded. “Let me see all your triples.”

“Yes, Coach!” Yuuri replied immediately, skating off around the rink.

He performed all his jumps methodically: first the triple toeloop, then the salchow, then his flip, lutz, loop, and axel.

“Show me one of your loop combinations now,” Yakov demanded.

“Yes, Coach!” Yuuri said obediently, launching himself a few seconds later into a triple flip-triple loop combination. He wobbled on the landing, definitely underrotating it, but at least he landed it.

“Again,” Yakov grunted.

And so it continued.

It felt like grueling hours later before Yakov finally changed his instructions. “Show me your quads.”

 _You want to see the quads_ now _? After all those combinations you just had me doing?_ Yuuri felt like protesting, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he gathered speed until he was ready to show Yakov his toeloop.

He landed shakily, glancing quickly to the boards to see Yakov’s reaction. His face was unreadable, and he grunted once.

_Does that mean he’s pleased? Displeased? Somewhere in the middle?_

“You have a salchow, don’t you?” Yakov prompted, still showing no discernable emotion.

Yuuri nodded quickly before hurrying to show the requested jump. Unfortunately, his quad salchow had always been unpredictable – and this time, he flubbed it badly. He was almost half a rotation short, and his blade skidded as he landed, causing him to fall hard onto the ice.

“Damn it,” Yuuri muttered to himself. Of course one of his worst attempts would be when Yakov was watching. He’d probably be sent home any second.

Looking back to the coach, he saw no change in his expression. “Into my office, Katsuki,” he said gruffly, turning away from Yuuri and making his way behind his desk.

Yuuri was quick to get off the ice, gulping nervously as he put on his skate guards before following Yakov into the glassed-in office.

“What happened on the salchow?” Yakov asked with no introduction. He wasn’t looking at Yuuri; instead, he was writing intently, scrawling quickly across the paper on his desk.

“Uh- well-”

“Speak, Katsuki. What can you do to make the jump better?”

“More speed,” Yuuri answered immediately. “I was a little slow going into it, so I need to keep my speed up.”

“Good. What else?”

“I didn’t pull my arms in fast enough, so I couldn’t get the full number of rotations in.”

“What do you need to do next time?” Yakov prompted, pausing in his writing but not looking up from his desk.

“Stay focused and pull my arms in tighter to my chest,” Yuuri stated.

Yakov nodded once. “Good.” He scribbled something else on the paper before dropping his pen and scanning it over. He nodded to himself, seemingly happy with what he had written. “Here is a list of goals I believe we can accomplish during this summer program,” Yakov said as he passed Yuuri the sheet of paper. “First, I feel that it is important we stabilize your quad salchow. You seem to know what’s wrong with it, so it should just be a matter of getting the muscle memory down. I would also like to see you add another quad – either a lutz or a flip.” Yuuri began to argue, but one sharp look from Yakov silenced any protests he might have. “Your triples of those two jumps have very good height. I think you can easily turn one of them into a quad this summer. We’ll put you on the harness tomorrow and see what you can do with them.”

Him – _Yuuri_ – attempting a quad lutz? A quad _flip_? Only Viktor Nikiforov himself landed that jump consistently. What was Yakov _thinking_?

But the only response Yuuri could give was an obedient “Yes, Coach Feltsman.” There was a reason Yakov was asking these things of him, and he doubted it was just to provide entertainment for the rest of the skaters (or at least he hoped that was true).

Celestino had wanted him to come here, and he trusted Celestino. If Celestino thought this would help him improve, then he needed to extend that trust to Yakov – and himself, too.

[Lover]

The next morning found Yuuri and Yakov at the rink bright and early, an assistant coach holding the rod for Yuuri’s harness. They had attempted the quad lutz first, which had been an utter disaster (okay, not an _utter_ disaster, but it definitely wasn’t the jump for him right now). Maybe Yuuri just wasn’t _meant_ to do quads.

The quad flip, though…

It took a few tries, and he certainly wasn’t ready to land it on his own yet, but he was beginning to get a feeling for the timing of it.

“Good. Again,” Yakov commanded from the side of the rink.

That seemed to be what Yakov usually wanted him to do: repeat a skill again and again and again.

“If you try to do it perfectly the first time, the chances are very small,” he had said. “The more you do it, the more you pick up on the small details. That is what makes a skater great in my rink: the ability to pay attention to the difference between a good jump, a great jump, and a perfect jump.”

So every morning for a week, Yuuri met with Yakov and one of the assistants to practice his quads. His salchow was steadily becoming better, and his flip was improving. The biggest change came when Yakov pointed out that his triple flip usually had a delay in rotation. If he pulled in tighter earlier in the jump, he was able to complete the revolutions much more easily.

The rink was still fairly empty during the day. Since the summer training program hadn’t begun yet, Yuuri frequently found himself in the company of Georgi and Mila, a singles skater who seemed to think Yuuri was just adorable. When Georgi mentioned how Yuuri had been unceremoniously dumped by Matt, she took it upon herself to try to set him up.

Thus began their afternoon ritual of going for drinks at the shop next door with Mila pointing at every vaguely-cute-possibly-gay man that walked past on the streets.

“That one?” she asked.

“No,” Yuuri responded, embarrassed.

“ _That_ one?”

“No, _please_ Mila. I’m not looking for any guys right now.”

“Alright, fine. Answer me this, then: there has to be one person in the world who, if they showed up at your door asking for a date, you would unequivocally say yes. Who is it?”

You would think that with all of Yuuri’s thoughts of Matthew Greyson and his broken heart, it would be easy to say ‘Matt.’ But instead, Yuuri found his mouth opening before he could second-guess himself.

“Viktor Nikiforov.”

Almost immediately, his hands flew to cover his mouth.

He had not just said that. He had _not_ just _said that_ , especially not to Viktor’s _rink mate_!

But judging by Mila’s giggles and the large grin on her face, he most certainly _had_ said that. “Oh Yuuri, you’re in for a surprise.”

Yuuri hoped it would be a good one, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

[Lover]

Yuuri had been in Russia for a week and a half when his morning routine was interrupted by an additional skater arriving at the rink. Mila usually warmed up near the boards until her coaching session began at 8:30, but today, she was not alone.

“Who’s the little piggy?” a young boy demanded. He was small, probably a junior or new senior, with sharp blonde hair that Yuuri vaguely recognized-

Oh. That’s right; the bathroom at the Grand Prix Final.

“Wait, I know you!” he spat. “You’re the other Yuuri. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Katsuki will be joining us for our summer training session,” Yakov stated. “I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“Yeah, yeah. _Sure_ ,” Yuri said. As soon as Yakov had turned his back, Yuri glared sharply at Yuuri, who tried his best to resume his practice. It turned out to be rather difficult, especially when Yuri began skating literal circles around him as he tried to work on a portion of his step sequence.

“Yuri, back off,” Mila said, gliding close to them and successfully interrupting Yuri’s newest circle.

“Why should I?” the younger boy challenged.

“Your time would be much better spent training. After all, you’ll be competing against Yuuri next year. My bet is on _him_ right now, not you.”

Yuri scoffed, but he did decide to leave Yuuri alone – for now.

“Thanks for lying to him for me,” Yuuri told Mila quietly.

“Lying? I didn’t lie about anything,” she countered. “In fact, I will be very disappointed if you don’t beat him at least once next season. His head is too big as it is, and he thinks too much of his abilities. There’s a lot he could learn from you.”

“I doubt he would _want_ to learn from me,” Yuuri murmured.

“That’s probably true, but if he wants to get better, he’ll start paying attention.” With that, Mila skated away to begin her practice for the day, leaving Yuuri to try to refocus and finish his own.

[Lover]

Yuri’s bullying – could it be called bullying if you were 23 and the one picking on you was 15? – continued for two more weeks. By that point, the summer training program had begun in earnest, and Yuuri was forced to spend hours each day following the same schedule as the boy.

“Bet he can’t even do a quad,” Yuri spat from the boards. He was taking a moment’s rest, getting a drink of water while conversing with Mila. It surprised Yuuri that Mila could put up with someone like Yuri since she had always seemed so kind and taken Yuuri under her wing.

But Yuri. _Yuri_ had been nothing but rude, and all of his taunting had bcome too much. Yuuri refused to take any more of that.

He sped up, covering half the distance of the rink before launching himself into a quad salchow. It wasn’t perfect – he had gone into the jump with a bit more speed than he had been using in practice lately (probably from his frustration), making it difficult to control and forcing him to lean forward to keep himself balanced on the landing. What it lacked in quality, though, it made up for in timing: it was executed precisely in front of little Yuri Plisetsky.

“Looks like you’ve got some competition, Yurio,” Mila said with a giggle.

“Don’t call me that!” the boy growled, glaring at Yuuri. “Hardly any challenge at all. That all you got, piggy?!” he shouted.

For once, luck was with Yuuri. He sped up again, circling his way around the rink before launching into a futile attempt at a quad flip – or at least every one of his legitimate attempts in the weeks up until now had been futile. He managed the full rotation this time and landed the jump, albeit needing to put one hand down on the ice to keep himself from falling when he landed.

 _Oh my god. I…actually landed the quad flip_?

“Молодец! Beautiful, Yuuri!” a man’s voice echoed through the rink – and it wasn’t Yuri or Yakov who was speaking.

Yuuri whipped around, this time fully losing his balance and falling hard onto his butt. He knew that voice. He knew the figure that stood at the entrance to the rink, silver hair and beaming smile directed his way.

_Viktor Nikiforov._

Why was Viktor back? Yakov had said he would be away doing ice shows for a few weeks, and that he would return on June 1…

…which was today. Crap. How had he forgotten that Viktor would be back _today_? Not just that – Yuuri had been so focused on his skating, on improving for _himself_ and not for anyone else or to _chase_ anyone, that it was almost like he forgot Viktor Nikiforov existed (how was that possible?).

Now, Viktor was stepping onto the ice and skating towards Yuuri, a hand extended to help him up from his fall. Yuuri stared dumbly at the hand for a moment, trying to piece together how his life had become _this_ : somehow landing a quad flip in front of Yuuri Plisetsky, only to fall on his butt at the first sign of Viktor Nikiforov.

“Or…not?” Viktor said nervously, starting to pull his hand back. His smile was fading, and Yuuri _refused_ to see that glorious smile disappear.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, thank you!” he rushed to say, reaching for Viktor’s hand, which he eagerly offered once more. “Thanks,” Yuuri said again, his cheeks turning red from something other than the cold rink air or the exertion from his jumps.

“It’s so great to finally get to meet you! Yakov has been telling me nothing but wonderful things about your skating, Yuuri. I can’t wait to learn all about you.” And damn it, there was that heart-shaped smile again that caused Yuuri to melt into a pile of molten goo – _definitely_ not an attractive state to be in when meeting your idol.

Mila’s giggles at the side of the boards interrupted them, giving Yuuri a moment to try and solidify his feelings once more. “Viktor, I see you’re already enamored with our darling Yuuri here!” she called across the rink.

“He’s quite wonderful!” Viktor agreed. “Yuuri, have lunch with me today. I want to know _everything._ ”

And how could Yuuri say no to _that_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! It's definitely exposition-heavy, but I promise lots of Viktor and Yuuri bonding moments in the next chapter!


	2. Cruel Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri is oblivious to Viktor's attempts at dating, and they finally spend some quality time together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some general notes on figure skating for this chapter! A figure skating scores has two parts, the technical element score (aka jumps and spins and things) and the program component scores (how good are your basic skating skills? How well did you connect to the music? Etc.). In this fic, I don’t mention the program components much, but Viktor talks a lot in this chapter about increasing Yuuri’s technical scores. Each specific element has an associated value, and the total of these is the base value for a program. This is basically how hard the program is. Skaters then get “grade of execution” points for how well they did each element. If you're trying to win, it makes sense to increase the difficulty of your elements as much as possible. Hope that gives you a decent background for part of this chapter! If not, feel free to ask away in the comments. :)

Yuuri’s room always felt oddly quiet at the end of the day. The rink was always so busy with people, and the dormitory was silent by comparison. His neighbor had apparently returned in the last few weeks, but he hardly made a peep. Yuuri only knew he was there by the sound of the door closing in the evenings.

His room felt especially lonely today after the time he had spent with Viktor. Lunch had turned into long conversation, which continued through their afternoon training. He had somehow gotten used to being with Viktor in only a few hours, and now, Yuuri felt very much alone in his room. He had been so used to having Phichit back in Detroit…

Phichit. He hadn’t talked to Phichit in a while, and Phichit would kill him if he wasn’t the one to tell him that he had seen Viktor. And if Phichit had to find out through _Instagram_?

Yuuri shuddered just imagining the scolding he would get for that. Since it was early evening for Yuuri, it would be sometime mid-morning for Phichit, so he would certainly be awake.

Yuuri pressed call on Phichit’s contact (the associated photo was his two hamsters, of course). It rang and rang, then- “Phichit,” Yuuri said as soon as he heard the phone get picked up.

“Yuuri! You haven’t called! I thought you’d forgotten about me.” Yuuri could hear Phichit’s pout halfway across the world.

“I could never forget about you, Phichit,” Yuuri assured him.

“How is Russia?”

“It’s…very Russian,” Yuuri said, looking around his still-blank dormitory, “but…”

“But?”

“Viktor’s back.”

“Viktor who?” Phichit said distractedly. It was his cooing voice, the one that he normally used when he was talking to his hamster children.

“Viktor _Nikiforov_ , you idiot!”

There was a thud on the other end of the line, then some scrambling sounds. “Oh shit – sorry, I dropped the phone. Wait, what’s he like? Tell me _everything_!”

“There’s not much to tell. I got a little mad at Yurio this morning, so I did a quad flip, and then Viktor walked in-”

“Wait wait wait – you _landed_ a _quad flip_? Have you even been working on that?”

“Haven’t I mentioned it?” Yuuri replied sheepishly.

“I think I would remember if my _best friend_ and the _uncle of my tiny children_ was training a _quad flip_ ,” Phichit said dramatically.

“Sorry…” Yuuri was starting to feel bad. Had he really been neglecting his friend that much?

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me what happened next.”

“So I…well, I kind of landed the flip. It wasn’t perfect. I put a hand down, you know? But then Viktor walked in and…well, he said something in Russian. I don’t know what, exactly, but he said the jump was beautiful-”

“Are you sure he was talking about the jump?” Phichit interrupted.

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” Yuuri said sternly.

“Sorry, sorry! He called you beautiful, go on!”

“He said the _jump_ was beautiful, and then I got so startled that I fell on my butt. I fell on my butt while practically _standing still_ , Phichit. How embarrassing is that?”

“Yes, but he called you _beautiful_!”

“The _jump_ , Phichit, not me!”

“Sure, sure, you keep thinking that,” Phichit teased. “ _Then_ what happened?”

“Then he helped me up.”

“Your future husband is such a gentleman!” Phichit gushed.

“He’s _not_ my future husband!”

“I will speak it into existence, just you wait!” Phichit said emphatically. “Now, in my perfect dream world of Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, he would then tell you how excited he is to get to know you and how he can’t wait to take you out on a date.” Yuuri was silent. “ _Yuu_ ri?” Phichit prompted.

“So he said that Yakov had told him a lot about me, and he really wanted to get to know me. We had lunch together.” Phichit cooed, but Yuuri was quick to set him straight. “Not like that! We’re on a training schedule, Phichit. There’s only two places to eat near here, and we only get an hour for lunch.”

“And have you always eaten with the other skaters before?” Phichit pointed out.

“Well, not exactly, but…”

“And did anyone else go with you?”

“No, but-” Phichit began humming a wedding march through the phone. “Phichit Chulanont, if you don’t stop now, your hamsters will have to _share_ a Christmas present this year,” Yuuri threatened.

Phichit gasped. “You wouldn’t dare neglect your godchildren!”

“If their _father_ keeps being such a-” Phichit would never learn exactly what kind of father he was being as just then, a knock cut Yuuri off. “Sorry, I need to grab that. This isn’t over, Phichit!” Yuuri said before smashing the button to end the call.

Yuuri expected to see Georgi or Mila when he opened the door. They sometimes invited him out for a drink or to visit local attractions. Instead, he was faced with the very tall, very stunning World Champion, Viktor Nikiforov.

_Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov_ , Phichit’s words echoed in his head.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Viktor greeted on the opposite side of the door.

“What?” Yuuri asked in confusion. “No, of course not; why would Matt and I even be-” But of course, Viktor didn’t know _anything_ about Matt. “That was my roommate from Detroit. We’re fine.”

“Ah,” Viktor said, but the smile on his face dimmed noticeably. “Would you feel like going for a walk? I could show you around, and I need to walk Makka. That is, as long as you don’t mind dogs?”

“Uh, sure,” Yuuri said before his mind could catch up to the final question. “Oh, yes! I love dogs. Let’s go!”

Outside the hallway of the dormitory, Yuuri found Yuri grudgingly holding a red leash with a mass of bouncing brown curls attached.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled.

“I wasn’t even a minute,” Viktor said dismissively. “Thank you, Yurio!”

Yuri offered some more incoherent grumbling, the words “not my name, old man” and “piggy” and “how disgusting” interspersed with swear words. He quickly let himself back into the dormitory, leaving Viktor and Yuuri alone with the dog.

“Yuuri, this is my darling Makkachin! Makka, this is my Yuuri,” Viktor cooed.

_My Yuuri_. Yuuri was certain that Viktor didn’t mean it _that_ way – he couldn’t – but it made Yuuri feel very warm inside.

Makka _boofed_ happily, sitting up on her hind legs and offering a front paw for Yuuri to shake.

_Oh my god he called me his Yuuri and his dog is the most precious thing I’ve ever seen since-_

Vicchan.

No. He wouldn’t let himself get sad – not now, not when he had Viktor and Makkachin, the two inspirations for his own Vicchan, in front of him and wanting to spend time with him.

_But the way he said_ his _Yuuri_ …

No. It must have been a slip of the tongue.

“Hello, Makkachin! Aren’t you just the most beautiful poodle? Yes you are. Yes! Would you like to go on a walk with us?”

Makkachin’s response was to jump up, putting her front two paws onto Yuuri’s chest and nearly bowling him over if it hadn’t been for Viktor’s quick, steadying hands at Yuuri’s back. Now jumping like _that_ was something Vicchan would never have been able to do.

“Oh, no, Makka! Down. Down!” Makkachin didn’t listen. Instead, she was content to lick Yuuri’s face with dozens of puppy kisses.

“It’s fine, Viktor; really!” Yuuri said through peals of laughter.

Once Makkachin finally settled down, Viktor gave her a pat on the head. “Who’s a sweetie?” he cooed to the poodle.

_You’re a sweetie_ , Yuuri thought as he stared at the scene in front of him. _Damn it, I came here to get away from my thoughts. I didn’t come here to start falling for_ Viktor Nikiforov!

The walk certainly didn’t help anything. Viktor was a remarkable conversationalist, making Yuuri feel at ease despite his compounding anxiety. Who _wouldn’t_ be anxious walking with their idol-turned-crush who also happened to looked like an angel?

They walked for nearly twenty minutes, talking about various things – mostly skating, but also Yuuri’s dismal grasp of the Russian language, which had just last week led him to following a sign for what he thought was the town square but instead led him to the nearby horse stables. Viktor laughed, but…strangely, Yuuri didn’t feel shamed by it. If anything, his anxiety lessened at the sound. Instead of feeling that Viktor was laughing _at_ him, it felt like they were sharing an inside joke. Viktor’s offer to help teach him the basics of Russian made it even sweeter.

(And if Yuuri was excited by the fact that Viktor was _voluntarily_ wanting to spend more time with him, well…)

Eventually, Yuuri looked up to find that they had stopped in front of a high-rise apartment building that looked much more expensive than anything his bank account and JSF stipend could ever afford.

“Do you mind if we drop Makka off?” Viktor asked. “I think she’s getting tired.”

Yuuri felt disappointed. Was their walk over already? “Oh, sure. I’ll just head on back then-”

“No! No, no, let’s just put Makka inside, and then I can show you around a bit more.” Viktor paused, suddenly looking unsure. “Unless you want to head back to the dormitories? I know it’d a bit late.”

“I’d love to see the area,” Yuuri agreed, smiling brightly.

“Let’s just bring Makka in, then.” Viktor began walking towards the double glass doors of the building, but he paused when he noticed that Yuuri wasn’t following. “Yuuri?”

“I can wait, it’s fine!” Yuuri said, not wanting to intrude on Viktor’s personal space.

“Nonsense! Come on up. I can even make you some tea if you’d like.”

Tea…Viktor…Viktor’s apartment. How could Yuuri say no to that?

[Lover]

Watching Viktor put the kettle on and grabbing two pink-detailed mugs and tea from the nearby cabinets was so utterly domestic that Yuuri felt himself turning to goo once more.

_Is this what it would be like to be Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov?_ Yuuri thought, Phichit’s inane suggestion rearing its head once more. _No. Dammit, Yuuri! Stop doing that. He’s_ Viktor Nikiforov, _and he’s definitely_ not _interested in helping you acquire a new last name._

“How do you like your tea, Yuuri?” Viktor asked.

“Uh…you know what? However you usually have it is fine,” Yuuri answered distractedly.

“No, no, I want to make it perfect! I need to learn what you like.”

_But…why_? Yuuri wanted to ask, but he didn’t.

“What do you take in your tea? I have all different kinds of jams, or I can run out and go buy something different!”

That seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through just to make a friend some tea. “Just cream and sugar is fine, thank you,” Yuuri told him.

Viktor looked a little confused by the choice, which Yuuri began to understand when he saw that he had a selection of jams in his tea cupboard, but he followed Yuuri’s instructions nonetheless.

Unsurprisingly (because it was Viktor, why else?), Yuuri’s tea was perfect.

“Too sweet? Not sweet enough? What can I do better, Yuuri?” Viktor asked eagerly.

“Nothing, it’s great!”

“No, really! Please, tell me. I want to get it _perfect_ for you.”

“It already _is_ perfect, Viktor. I promise.” Yuuri’s words may not have convinced him at first, but the glowing smile he gave Viktor certainly did.

Ugh. There it was: Yuuri was turning into goo (again), and he needed to stay focused so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of Viktor (again). _Focus, Yuuri! Viktor wants to talk with you!_

“…type that I got while I was competing at the Cup of China a few years ago,” Viktor was saying. “Do you like it?”

“It’s great,” Yuuri said, hoping that Viktor was indeed still talking about the tea. Yuuri looked around Viktor’s apartment, taking in the dog bed in the corner, the immaculate kitchen, and the cozy-looking sitting room. “How come you don’t live in the dormitory like the rest of the skaters?” he asked curiously.

“We don’t _have_ to live there,” Viktor said. “I did for a while. Before that, when I was really young, I lived with Yakov and his wife. But after a while…I suppose I just wanted a little space. A little quiet sliver of my life where I could just be myself and laze around with my poodle.” Viktor looked fondly at Makkachin. “I suppose Makka was a big part of it, too. Pets aren’t allowed in the dormitory, so that was some of my motivation to get an apartment. I have the money, so I might as well,” Viktor finished with a shrug.

“I wish there was a dorm option back in Detroit,” Yuuri said. “There were dorms on my college campus, but it was a bit too far from the rink to be up for early morning training every day, and I couldn’t stay there in the summer. It made sense to get an apartment with Phichit, but it was definitely a stretch to afford it,” Yuuri admitted.

Viktor was immediately interested in Yuuri’s life back in Detroit. He wanted to know everything about attending a university and training with Celestino and Phichit and _especially_ Phichit’s hamsters (Yuuri was sure that Phichit would be thrilled Viktor had asked about them). Yuuri answered every question happily, turning some back to Viktor to learn more about his life in Russia (apparently, it consisted of skating, Makka, skating, Makka, skating, and _more_ Makka, which Yuuri thought sounded like paradise).

The evening wore on without them noticing – they had only intended to come inside for tea, but tea turned into deep conversations on the couch until the sky turned black.

“I should be getting back,” Yuuri reluctantly said, casting a glance at the time on his phone.

“I’ll walk you,” Viktor said, standing from the couch and stretching, his hands raising high into the air and pulling his shirt up to reveal a sliver of his stomach.

_Stop it, Yuuri; don’t turn to goo again!_ he scolded himself, turning his eyes away to stare at Makkachin’s darling face instead. He was slightly less likely to melt while looking at the poodle, but only _slightly_.

“You don’t need to do that!” Yuuri rushed to say. “I’ll be fine; it’s just a few blocks! You don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble, Yuuri. I’d love to walk you back to your dormitory. That is…if you don’t mind?” he added hesitantly.

“I don’t mind at all,” Yuuri assured him with a smile.

[Lover]

The focus of Yuuri’s time in Russia was slowly changing. He had come to train and get away from the Matt-shaped hole he had dug himself back in Detroit, but training had soon become training with _Viktor_.

It was a normal Tuesday – or as normal a day as Yuuri ever had training in a foreign country with _Viktor Nikiforov,_ who was wearing a blue sweater that made him _far_ too pleasant for Yuuri to stare at.

It was like he was being tempted by the devil, but the devil was a god on the ice. The devil had hair like a halo and a mouth shaped like a heart – the devil was probably lying to him, trying to get him to fall hard and fast and just say _yes_ to things, but…

And that’s when it hit him. Yuuri watched as Viktor flubbed a quad flip of all jumps, tumbling to the ice and laying there for a moment. Just as Yuuri was skating beside him to see that he was okay, he noticed Viktor’s chest shaking with rumbling laughter. As Yuuri offered him a hand getting up, Viktor turned a golden grin up at him.

Oh.

_Oh._

And that’s when Yuuri realized he was more than a little bit in love with Viktor Nikiforov (as if that wasn’t the worst idea Yuuri had ever heard). _Oh, sure, great idea, Yuuri. Go fall head over heels for an idol who will never love you back!_

But as Viktor accepted Yuuri’s hand, soft black gloves meeting Yuuri’s palm, Yuuri decided that if he were falling for the devil, at least the devil was Viktor; and for Viktor, he would go willingly.

Yuuri was…well, he was screwed.

He had come here to skate, to focus on skating and _only skating_ and not things like Matthew Greyson or love. Now, here he was falling head over heels in love with _Viktor Nikiforov_ , which could only end up hurting him worse than Matt’s breakup message ever could.

What would be the price associated with loving Viktor Nikiforov?

Would it come from the fans and the constant scrutiny from them? Would it be the high expectations, the feeling of never being good enough for Viktor?

Would the ultimate price be Yuuri’s heart breaking if Viktor left, tainting skating for him forever?

But even with all those thoughts…

Yuuri felt himself slowly falling more and more in love with Viktor. It was the silly little things: how Viktor cooed over Makkachin, how he was so attentive to Yuuri when they would talk, how he always walked Yuuri back to his dormitory at the end of practice and waited to make sure he got in safely, how he made tea and hummed while he was deep in thought and-

It was all silly little _domestic_ things that Yuuri desperately wished he would be able to experience forever.

With each passing day, Yuuri found even more of those silly little things to love about Viktor.

[Lover]

It was pouring that Thursday, and Yuuri _really_ didn’t want to run to a store without an umbrella just for a snack. The dormitories were closer, but he hadn’t gone grocery shopping in a while (honestly, he was a little scared of buying things he didn’t mean to), so his food stores were depleted. Besides, going back to his room would still require getting wet.

The rink had two vending machines, with the one containing a variety of semi-healthy snacks being _much_ older than the one with drinks. By _much_ older, he meant that for whatever reason, the buttons corresponding to each shelf didn’t have pictures – just typed words that the rink staff replaced when they refilled the machine with something new. Words in Cyrillic, to be specific – an alphabet that Yuuri _really_ hadn’t gotten a good grasp on yet.

He had tried to guess what button corresponded to the freeze-dried apples he wanted, going for the one with a letter vaguely resembling a ‘p’ on it, only to find that a packet of granola dropped down instead.

Damn. He _really_ didn’t want to have to keep adding more money and pressing every single button until he lucked out…

“Need some help?” a cheery voice called down the corridor. Yuuri looked up to see Viktor coming his way.

“Yes, _please_.” Yuuri felt a wave of relief wash over him immediately. “I was trying for the packet of apples, and I thought this one here was a ‘p’, but apparently not? And nothing here looks like an ‘a’ for apple, and…basically, I don’t have any idea what I should be looking for.”

“So that might _look_ like a ‘p’,” Viktor said, “but it actually makes an ‘r’ sound here.”

“That…makes no sense to me, but okay. ‘P’s are ‘r’s, got it. So what crazy letters do I need to recognize so I can get myself some apples?”

Viktor smiled. “You’re going to totally think I’m lying.” He pointed at a letter that looked like a backwards capital ‘R’. “It’s this one here.”

“Are you kidding me? I never would have guessed that one. Do you guys purposely have a confusing alphabet _just_ to mess with foreigners?”

“Says the man whose mother tongue uses strange squiggles and lines that don’t look like _any_ alphabet I’ve ever seen!” Viktor retorted with a laugh.

Ugh. Yuuri really _was_ screwed. Viktor face mid-laugh in the dimly lit corridor was _still_ beautiful. It wasn’t even good lighting – it was the dim glow of the vending machines, not the kind of lighting that should be able to illuminate Viktor’s gorgeous cheekbones in a way that was so striking with his silver hair.

Damn.

Yuuri tried to focus on his present conundrum, putting more money into the machine and pressing the button Viktor had showed him. Thankfully, he _finally_ got his apples.

“So lesson of the day,” Yuuri said good-naturedly, “if I want some apples in Russia, I need to look for the ‘R’ from the Toys R Us logo. Got it…I think.”

Viktor laughed again, which didn’t do anything to help Yuuri’s growing attraction or his tendency to melt into Yuuri-esque goo around him. All these new feelings would be the death of him (or the embarrassment). “I don’t know what that is, but if it helps you, go for it!”

“Do you want…” Yuuri squinted at the lettering on the granola packet in his hand, “…I mean, it’s granola, but I don’t know how to pronounce whatever the package says,” he offered.

Viktor glanced outside at the sheets of pouring rain. “You know what? That sounds great. I wasn’t really thrilled with the idea of going out there.”

They found a cozy corner of the rink to sit down together, far away from the other skaters chatting loudly on the benches. Viktor sat down on the ground, tucking his feet underneath him and patting the ground beside him. Yuuri didn’t hesitate to crouch down next to him, letting their shoulders brush gently. They sat together, eating their snacks and making light conversation as the rain pattered on the rink roof.

[Lover]

Moments like this soon became the new norm: if one of them took a break, the other would conveniently take a break at the same time. Yuuri knew why _he_ was acting this way (he wanted to savor every single moment he could get with Viktor), but why was _Viktor_?

The following day, Viktor had been sticking close to Yuuri during training. It wasn’t anything overly obvious, and if he wasn’t so aware of Viktor, he might not have noticed.

But that was just it: he was acutely aware of Viktor, so keenly attuned to his position and his movements that Yuuri noticed every time he deviated from the normal steps in his program just to skate a little closer, especially when Yuuri successfully landed a jump.

Taking deep breaths, Yuuri decided it was time he paused for a water break. He could only do so many quad salchows at a time. He stepped off the ice, putting his skate guards on and sitting down to catch his breath. Next to the skaters’ bench, the door to Yakov’s office was wide open. Yuuri could clearly hear Yakov’s half of a heated conversation with someone on the phone.

“Viktor needs to focus. He’s getting too distracted again! He doesn’t need any more press coverage right now on top of it.” There was a pause as Yakov listened. “Asking questions? Of course he is! That damn boy can’t do anything _but_ ask questions,” Yakov was griping over the phone. “It’s always Yuuri _this_ , Yuuri _that_ , how is Yuuri _doing_ , what does Yuuri want to do in his _programs_. Who’s supposed to be coaching the boy here? …Exactly – I thought it was me, too!”

Yakov was clearly talking about Viktor and his scrutiny of Yuri’s skating. Yuuri had made this mistake once already at the Grand Prix Final, and he refused to embarrass himself again. He knew now how invested Viktor was in Yuri’s training, even if Yuri didn’t like to listen to his feedback – there was no reason for Viktor to be asking about _him_.

Speak of the devil.

Apparently, Viktor had decided that he also needed a break. He sat down on the bench next to Yuuri, sipping at water and watching the others continue their practice on the ice. “Your programs are looking great,” he said conversationally, “but I noticed that you aren’t doing the quad flip in either of them?”

“I don’t have a high enough success rate on it to risk it for the short program,” Yuuri explained.

“Why not add the quad flip to your free skate then?” Viktor suggested.

“Well, it’s not quite ready yet,” Yuuri said nervously. “I’m only landing it about half the time still, and-”

“Weren’t you only landing your salchow half the time before you came here?” Viktor interrupted. “You put _that_ into your programs.”

Viktor’s words had been a little blunt. Yuuri tried not to be offended, but…it sounded like Viktor was diminishing his skating abilities (which, compared to Viktor’s, were admittedly terrible). “Yes, but I _needed_ that in my programs to get the extra points!” Yuuri protested.

“And if I told you that I think you _need_ the quad flip in your program now?” Viktor pressed.

“But I’m landing the salchow so much better now! There’s no sense swapping it out for the flip with the risk of me falling and losing points when I have a perfectly stable salchow.”

“I never said switch out the salchow,” Viktor said.

“Huh?”

“Don’t switch out the salchow. It’s been looking like one of your best jumps lately. Take out something else – the triple flip would be an obvious choice. It’s the solo jump with the lowest base value in your program, so it makes sense to swap that one out.”

Yuuri was quiet as he digested the information, feeling less offended now and _much_ more interested in Viktor’s absurd idea that had no chance of working. How did Viktor not see that? “Wait wait wait – you want me to try _four quads_ in my program? Are you insane?”

“I have four in mine!” Viktor said, sounding vaguely hurt.

“Yes, but you’re…you’re…”

“A skater with less stamina than you?” Viktor supplied.

“No! You’re…you’re _Viktor Nikiforov_ ,” Yuuri finally said.

Viktor blinked, obviously confused. “Thanks for…noticing…?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Yuuri groaned in frustration. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov-”

“I remember,” Viktor interjected.

“-the _five-time_ World Champion and reigning Olympic champion, not to mention the current world record holder for _every_ men’s singles record,” Yuuri continued as if Viktor hadn’t just interrupted. “You’re _expected_ to do four quads. It would be _absolutely insane_ for me to try that in a competition.”

“Why?” Viktor asked bluntly.

“Why? Because- because I can’t-”

“If you’re about to say you can’t jump four quads, you’re lying. I watch you do it every morning. I watch you jump dozens all day long, and you seem to keep going long after I’m exhausted and done for the day. What makes putting four in your program so different?”

“But if I fall on one of them…”

“Your salchow’s success rate in competition was abysmal at best,” Viktor said dryly. “What makes falling on a quad flip any different than falling on a quad salchow?”

_Well, he didn’t have to put it like_ that _,_ Yuuri thought, but he couldn’t deny how true the words were.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Viktor said determinedly, “I’ll treat you to an early dinner, we’ll rest for a bit, give Makka some love, and then come back for some practice when Yakov isn’t paying too much attention. Let _me_ be your coach for an hour or so, and let’s see what happens. What do you say?” Viktor turned that heart-shaped smile towards him. He _must_ know Yuuri couldn’t resist that by now.

“Okay,” Yuuri reluctantly agreed, “but _only_ because you’re buying me dinner.” Yuuri would let Viktor believe that it was _only_ the food that was convincing him and _not_ the man in front of him – or his glorious smile.

The devil was Viktor Nikiforov, so of course Yuuri couldn’t say no.

Damn him.

“Back on the ice, you two! Enough mooning over each other!” Yakov barked from the doorway to his office, startling them both. Yuuri jumped to his feet immediately, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

_Am I really that obvious that_ Yakov _noticed? It’s just…Viktor was too tempting, and maybe I’m just too weak to resist_ , Yuuri thought as he stepped on the ice again. _Not maybe – I_ am _too weak to resist him._

Hopefully he would be able to enjoy this…this…whatever _this_ was while it lasted, before it burned itself out just like it had with Matt. He just wouldn’t let himself get attached this time.

(At least, that’s what he hoped.)

[Lover]

Dinner was incredibly pleasant. More than pleasant – it felt like absolute heaven. It was everything Yuuri had wanted his time with Matt to be, and somehow it had just instantly… _worked_ with Viktor where it hadn’t with Matt.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, ranging from easy topics like Makkachin to harder discussions of what it’s like to train away from your family. They shared jokes (why hadn’t the fan sites ever mentioned how _funny_ Viktor was?) and bites of their dinner (Yuuri didn’t quite know what he’d ordered, and he found that he liked Viktor’s food _much_ better). It was…

…not a date, Yuuri was pretty sure, although it sure as hell _felt_ like the datiest date he had ever gone on.

What defined a date? Had Viktor asked him out, or was it just two companions having dinner together since they were both heading back to the rink anyways? Viktor had offered to pay, but was he just being kind? Yuuri was a foreigner and a rinkmate with a tight budget – were these both things that led Viktor to offer to pay for his dinner?

Ugh. Yuuri wished dating came with glowing neon signs that flashed “YES I’M INTO YOU” or “JUST FRIENDS” because he _really_ couldn’t tell the difference, and Phichit was always on the side of people being totally into Yuuri (which Yuuri was pretty sure was _never_ true, but he would let Phichit dream).

(Although maybe it was better that dating didn’t have those signs. Yuuri was pretty sure his was flashing “YES I’LL GLADLY CHANGE MY NAME TO YUURI KATSUKI-NIKIFOROV” right now, and that would be _very_ embarrassing.)

After their perfect dinner-non-date, they headed back to the rink. It was just after 6:30, and although the rink was supposed to close at 7, Viktor assured Yuuri that it would be alright if they stayed late. Apparently, Viktor was one of the people gifted with a key. Yuuri supposed that made total sense – if you wouldn’t give a key to the Olympic champion, who _would_ you give a key to?

The rink was empty already, the staff saying something quickly in Russian to Viktor before returning to their closing duties. They had the ice all to themselves.

“Alright, Yuuri. I want to have you try running your program as it is right now. I know you and Yakov haven’t finalized the jump layout yet and are just focusing on the choreography, but let’s see what it looks like.”

“I’ve got the same layout right now as last season, if that helps,” Yuuri told Viktor as he skated away from the boards. There wasn’t any music on, but he knew his program well enough already that he could follow along silently.

He did a few crossovers, gaining speed for his first jump: his biggest combination, a quad toe-double toe. His second jump, the quad salchow, was feeling _much_ more stable than last year, giving him only a fraction of the anxiety it that he used to experience as he went into it. The second half of his layout was technically easier than the first half, only containing one of his combinations and a solo quad toeloop. His jumps weren’t perfect in the run-through, but they were all landed today (and thankfully so – he _really_ didn’t want to mess up in front of Viktor during what was apparently a coaching session).

He finished the run-through, ending with his hands clasped to his chest as the choreography called for. He took a few deep breaths before skating over to where Viktor was waiting.

“So?” Yuuri asked. “What do you think?”

Viktor’s brow was furrowed, which Yuuri didn’t take as a good sign. “Have you always had that triple flip in there as a solo jump?” Viktor questioned.

“I…yes?” Yuuri was really getting nervous now. Was something really _that_ wrong with his layout?

“It’s just that…well, here,” Viktor said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a notebook and a pencil. “Here’s your layout right now,” he said as he furiously wrote jump abbreviations onto the paper. “You’ve got three quads, which is good, and you’ve got one of the quad toes in the second half which gives you a nice bonus there. Your triple lutz-triple toe in the second half seems reasonable, and while I think you could move your axel combination to the back half, it’s okay where it is with just the solo axel in the second half. Have you trained half loop-triple flip combos?”

“…yes?” Yuuri felt very lost at the moment. Is this how Viktor _always_ worked through things?

“If you change the triple axel-half loop-triple sal to a triple flip on the end, you can change your triple flip to a triple loop, and your base value goes up by 0.60 points. Is there a reason you hadn’t tried that last season?”

“It…hadn’t occurred to me? I had a lutz where the second quad toe was early on in the season, and when we swapped them, I guess we just…considered changing anything else. It had worked as it was,” Yuuri explained with a shrug.

“I know 0.60 points may not seem like a lot, but every bit helps. Then, if you swapped that combination into the second half, you’d get the bonus on top of that.”

“That…makes a lot of sense,” Yuuri said, comparing the layouts Viktor showed him on the paper. “So you _don’t_ want me to do the quad flip, then?” Yuuri kind of hoped he would say that he could forget about it – but then again, it _would_ increase his base value a lot…

“No, we’ll try adding that next!” Viktor answered cheerfully. “Can you go try the new triple axel combo?”

Yuuri nodded. “Okay, sure,” he said, pushing himself off the boards and skating once around the rink before attempting the new jump. It lacked flow, and it would definitely take some time for his muscle memory to be good enough to balance out his competition nerves, but it was definitely doable.

“Beautiful, Yuuri!” Viktor called across the rink. “Now come back here for a minute.” Yuuri dutifully returned, only to be presented with another penciled layout. “I really think you could move the axel combo to the second half, but I want you to try this first.”

The layout looked terrifying. It really _shouldn’t_ , but seeing it on paper in Viktor’s handwriting with all the expectations attached…

He was about to try four quads.

“Just run the first half of the program since the second half is all the same,” Viktor told him.

Yuuri nodded, feeling his stomach beginning to do flips (and not the quad kind). There was really no reason why he _shouldn’t_ do a program with four quads, but just thinking about it…

“Don’t think, Yuuri! Just do it!” Viktor called across the rink, somehow knowing exactly how Yuuri’s anxiety was poisoning his thoughts.

Yuuri wasn’t sure if it was the quad flip being the first jump that frightened him the most or if it was the prospect of having three quads in the first half of his program, but he was a little scared. But he’s _Yuuri_ – his anxiety _always_ made him a little scared.

So he took Viktor’s advice, tried to shut off the whirling thoughts in his mind, and he just did it – and it turned out mostly okay. He fell on the final part of his new triple axel combination, but he got up and landed a quad salchow just after it.

“Incredible, Yuuri! Yes! See? What did I tell you?”

Viktor was probably the most encouraging coach Yuuri had ever had. Well, he wasn’t _technically_ Yuuri’s coach, but he said this was a coaching session, right?

“Thanks, Coach,” Yuuri said with a grin. He was a little winded from his fall, so he gratefully accepted the water bottle Viktor pressed into his hands.

“Hmm, coach. I could get used to that!” Viktor replied thoughtfully. “Well, as your coach, I think we need to run the whole program this time. What do you think?”

“If you say so, Coach,” Yuuri teased as he went to run his program all the way through.

“Yes, that’s it!” Viktor cheered despite Yuuri’s mistakes on two of his jumps.

“It wasn’t that good,” Yuuri said.

“Oh, but it was! A turnout and a hand down? Out of all _that_? If I weren’t competing, I’d hand you the World gold already. And even with me competing…”

“A silver?” Yuuri asked tentatively.

“Oh, no. Hardly.” Yuuri felt a little disappointed, but then Viktor continued. “I’ve got to watch my back, and I’ll be maximizing my programs as much as possible with your new layout this season. I’d love to see gold around your neck – but I won’t make it easy for you!”

Yuuri wasn’t sure if Viktor was humoring him or if he was telling the truth. He was _definitely_ exaggerating though; Yuuri didn’t have a chance of beating Viktor. Besides, Viktor’s programs were already _much_ harder – now he was talking of finding ways to make them even more difficult?

“Is this how you make _all_ your programs? Planning different layouts until you’ve gotten every last possible point in base value?” Yuuri had meant it as an honest question – he really wanted to know what went on in Viktor’s mind when he was making his incredible programs – but something in his tone must have been off.

Viktor frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.

“Sorry? For what?” Viktor had _nothing_ to be sorry for. If anything, Yuuri should be the one apologizing for taking up Viktor’s time and being a difficult student and…

“I get so excited about programs. I really shouldn’t push about the scores so much. I can back off.”

Now Yuuri felt very confused. “Why should you back off? If you love doing something, you shouldn’t _stop_ doing it. Besides, you’re _helping_ me! You’re helping your _competition_! I mean, unless you’re done for the evening?” Yuuri said uncertainly.

“No, no! I would love to keep helping you. I have all these ideas! It’s just that everyone gets annoyed when I push scoring and layout options at them; Yuri really hates when I do it, and…”

“Well, I’m not everyone, then,” Yuuri responded with a warm smile. “I love seeing you get excited about things. Even if you _weren’t_ helping me, even if you were just babbling on about…I don’t know, _building birdhouses_ or something that I was in no way interested in, I would still want you to keep talking because I’m interested in _you_.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Had he really just said that?

Viktor let out a squeaking sound that Yuuri wasn’t sure a normal human could make. “You’re interested in me?”

Viktor’s face looked hopeful, so despite Yuuri’s own embarrassment, he refused to take his words back. “Uh…yes?”

“Oh, _Yuuri_!” Yuuri wasn’t prepared to be tackled to the ice. Thankfully, Viktor had managed to let them fall in such a way that one of Viktor’s hands was beneath Yuuri’s head to cushion his landing. “Oh, Yuuri, I am so interested in _you_! I thought you knew that?”

That really stumped Yuuri. He knew he was bad at picking up hints and other people’s flirting, but was he really _that_ bad? Or was Viktor only interested in him as a skater and not in _him_? Was that why he was helping him with his program?

“You mean you’re interested in my program layouts? In my jumps?” Yuuri tried to clarify.

“Of course I am!” Viktor agreed. Yuuri felt as if his heart had dropped through the ice.

“…Oh.”

“You’re so incredible, so why wouldn’t I be interested in your skating, too? It’s what brought us together, after all,” Viktor continued on. “You’re so sweet and so kind and you are so _cute_ -” _oh my god Viktor Nikiforov just called me cute_ “-that how could I not be interested in you? Didn’t you enjoy our date tonight?”

And just like that, Viktor had captured his heart with a fishhook and was reeling it back up through the ice and into his chest.

“Date?”

“Yes, date, silly! Oh, no…did you think it wasn’t a date? I mean, it could be _not_ a date if you’re not interested in me like that?” Viktor offered, his tone quieting. “I know I get so excited about things and I race ahead and I don’t always-”

“I loved our date tonight, Viktor,” Yuuri interrupted. “It was incredible, and I very much wanted it to be a date. I’m just…I’m just a little slow sometimes, and I didn’t realize it _was_ a date. I’m _thrilled_ that it was a date. It was the best date I’ve ever had,” Yuuri rambled on, each of his words making Viktor’s smile brighten and Yuuri’s heart beat twice as fast.

“I’m so glad you liked it!” Viktor’s beautiful heart-shaped smile was back. “Could we do it again? A date, that it?” He wanted to be very clear this time so that there would be no confusion between them.

“I…” Yuuri so badly wanted to say yes. He wanted to jump headfirst into this new, unknown territory and embrace it whole-heartedly. He wanted to pretend his anxiety didn’t exist and act impulsively for once. But… “I’m going to screw this up,” Yuuri muttered to himself. “There’s no way this can end well. But…” _It won’t kill me to try, will it? To try for Viktor?_ With _Viktor?_

“How do you know it won’t end well if we don’t try?” Viktor said softly, bringing Yuuri back to the moment and reminding him that he wasn’t alone and had been talking out loud (how embarrassing). “How about…how about you just say yes to spending more time with me? We don’t have to make it anything special. There’s no way you can screw that up; I promise.”

Yuuri felt like saying _It can’t_ not _be anything special because it’s with_ you _, Viktor,_ but instead he timidly replied, “Okay.”

And judging by the way his heart did flips as soon as Viktor smiled again, he’d be saying that a lot.

[Lover]

Viktor had a private session with Yakov the following night, and Georgi decided that Yuuri need to get out more often and experience the Saint Petersburg nightlife. Yuuri, against his better judgement, agreed to joining Georgi and Mila at a bar for one drink.

“One” drink turned into multiple drinks, and pretty soon, Yuuri was spilling his guts to his rinkmates. They had asked about Yuuri’s impressions of Viktor somewhere in the middle of his second drink, and it had all come pouring out.

(This is why Yuuri never went out with Phichit and why he was glad that Phichit wasn’t present at the moment – he would _definitely_ have capitalized on Yuuri’s inebriated state and asked him some very embarrassing questions.)

“Viktor’s amazing. Of _course_ he is, though. He’s _Viktor Nikiforov!_ I feel like…I feel like I could love him _so damn easily_ and I just _want_ to love him,” Yuuri confessed partway through his third drink.

“Well, you probably shouldn’t tell him that,” Georgi said with a laugh. “He’s not one to make commitments. You don’t want to scare him off early, even if he’ll eventually end it himself.”

_End it himself_?

“What does that mean?” Yuuri asked, his words beginning to slur together as he chugged the remainder of his drink.

“Viktor has had boyfriends – and a girlfriend or two, though mostly boyfriends – that come around for a week or so, have a date or four, then disappear. He never speaks of them again, and he looks like he just finished a business transaction. No evidence of a broken heart, no attachment – nothing,” Mila explained.

“So, what, he just doesn’t care about them?”

“He seems to like them well enough for the couple days they hang around him,” Mila grumbled, “especially if the amount of touching and kissing in all their photos is something to go by.”

“He does this all the time?” Yuuri asked, feeling vaguely sick. Was that the alcohol, or was it the image of Viktor Nikiforov slowly twisting image in his mind?

“I wouldn’t say all the time,” Georgi corrected. “I see a few people a year with him. I guess it’s just…well, it’s noticeable, and then they just stop going out really abruptly.”

“What does that look like, then? What happens?” Yuuri asked, but he had a distinct feeling he was going to regret it.

“Viktor’s pretty private, but there’s a lot of dinners out, and it seems like they go back to his place sometimes. There’s always photos of him and whoever taking walks together,” Georgi told him.

Yuuri felt like he wanted to throw up. It sounded so familiar…going out to eat, long walks, the un-date dinner with Viktor, and tea at Viktor’s place…

“But I’m sure this is very different!” Mila was quick to say, noticing the defeated look on Yuuri’s face. “Yuuri, he’s never gone out with anyone from the rink. _Nobody._ ” _Not that there’s many options at the rink,_ Yuuri filled in for himself. There weren’t many skaters in Viktor’s age range, and he _seriously_ doubted that 27-year-old Viktor Nikiforov wanted to go out with some teenager (although what did Yuuri _really_ know, hearing all this?).

The lighthearted mood had been sufficiently killed, and the night wrapped up quickly after that. Yuuri, his stomach feeling as if it would dispose of its contents at any moment, didn’t want anything else to drink. The three of them took a cab back to their dormitories rather than walking – or precariously swaying, in Yuuri’s case. They said their quick goodnights before parting ways, and then Yuuri was alone.

Well, he was alone with a great deal of new information.

It seemed that what he and Viktor were doing fit perfectly into the pattern of Viktor’s past relationships, except for what Mila had said.

_But maybe the last relationships just weren’t_ right _for him,_ the hopeful voice of Yuuri’s heart argued.

_But the_ facts _,_ Yuuri’s brain countered.

It was such a cruel situation to be in. Yuuri felt like he was gambling, which was such an _un-Yuuri-like_ thing to do. He was taking a big risk that Viktor was being upfront about everything, that for once Viktor would decide to settle down (at least for the summer – at least long enough that Yuuri could leave when he inevitably got dumped instead of needing to see Viktor’s beautiful face every day at training).

But then again, skating could be a bit like gambling, too, so maybe this _wasn’t_ such an un-Yuuri-like thing after all. Every time he tried a quad, there was a chance he would fail. Maybe the chance of failure was much higher with Viktor than with his quad salchow, but…

…maybe he’d be worth it.

(Yuuri was in too deep, anyways. He’d never heard of the devil letting someone go, after all.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't obvious, my favorite line from the song "Cruel Summer" is when she says "he looks up grinning like a devil"...so that was definitely a big part of this chapter's inspiration!  
> Things have been pretty light and cheery so far, but next chapter starts some feels! Any guesses what song/chapter title might be coming next?


	3. The Archer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri and Viktor are very honest with each other and we hear more about Yuuri's relationship with Matt.

Training soon became more focused on competition and completing program run-throughs. The choreography for Yuuri’s programs had been finished, and he was content with them both.

His theme for the season was “Existence.” The short program had a hopeful tone to it, but it also spoke to his anxieties about wanting to make sense of his life. The choreographer had helped him show the dichotomy of the two feelings on the ice, making Yuuri pay special attention to his arm movements – something that hadn’t been as much of a focus in his previous programs. Together, they had chosen the song “Exogenesis Part 3,” which, Yuuri admitted, _was_ a bit of a modern warhorse in figure skating, but after the year he had been through with Vicchan and Matt, he was drawn to the idea of “starting over again.”

His free program…

Yuuri wasn’t sure how he felt about it yet. He liked it as a program – it was very well packaged, and the step sequence was utterly breathtaking. The costume that was being made for the program was a deep navy blue, so dark that it was nearly black, with wisps of green and blue sparkles to give it dimension. On paper, everything about the program sounded perfect for him. But…

It was something to do with the music, or maybe it was the lack of a focused storyline for the program. With the short program, Yuuri was skating to begin anew. He was trying to show to the audience that he wanted to be a new person and a new skater, and he felt like he was making great strides in getting that across. The free program, on the other hand, had an underlying tone of something mysterious. There were parts of the music that seemed to build, only to drop back to a delicate piano melody.

He was trying to skate it as a story of his inspiration for skating – a tribute to what made him _feel_ on the ice. He knew _when_ he felt things on the ice, but the problem was, he wasn’t quite sure what the root cause of those emotions was.

He hoped he would find out soon.

[Lover]

As the weeks grew closer to the in-house competition, reporters started to circle around the rink more fervently. They normally focused all their attention on Viktor, but unfortunately, they had begun to notice Yuuri and Yuri more frequently. By early July, they were beginning to pit “The Two Yuris” against each other as the face-off of the season, spinning it as the two seniors vying for the silver medal – no one could beat Viktor, after all. Their take on the situation was selling thousands of useless tabloids, and that was all they cared about.

They certainly didn’t care about how all their hounding was making Yuuri’s anxiety spike to new heights or how Yuri often hid after practice, waiting until a large group of people left so he could tuck his sweatshirt-clad body into the middle of the group and get back to the dormitories unnoticed. (Thank goodness the dormitories had restricted access through a keycard system.)

Yuuri was hesitant to mention it to him, but he had noticed the toll all the attention was even starting to take on Viktor. He was keeping to himself more at the rink, tucking himself into the farthest corners of the ice where the reporters couldn’t ask him questions if he missed a step. Yuuri also noticed a trend: the farther away Viktor was from the boards, the more he pretended he couldn’t hear them talking over the noise of the rink. The behavior was obvious to Yuuri, but then again, he had done the same thing on more than one occasion.

All Yuuri’s free time after practice was slowly being spent more and more frequently with Viktor. Yuuri tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head reminding him that Viktor could end this at any second and allowed himself to enjoy the moment – however long it may last.

They would jog back to Viktor’s apartment once practice was done for the day, then change and take Makkachin for a long walk. They would make dinner together and read or watch a show while cuddling, which Makkachin loved to join in on. Most nights, Yuuri would then walk back to the dormitories to sleep before following the same routine the next day.

That was most nights, though.

Other times, they would stay up late talking together on the couch. As the weeks went on, their talks grew more serious, more soul-bearing. They would talk until their eyelids drooped and they dozed off together, waking up as the sun streamed through the curtains to find that Makkachin had tucked herself between them during the night.

It was perfect – but also very fragile.

“I see right through it, you know,” Yuuri said casually one night. He wasn’t even looking at Viktor; he was standing at the counter, chopping carrots into even sticks for a stir-fry. He said it as if he were simply commenting on the weather that day.

But it _wasn’t_ a statement about the unseasonably chilly wind that whirled outside the apartment windows, and the temperature wasn’t what made Viktor’s face lose all color and cause his hands to begin trembling, nearly dropping the spatula into the frying pan.

_No. No, he can’t. He can’t be like the rest of them, just ignoring me and…and…_

“I noticed it more today,” Yuuri continued, unaware of Viktor’s spiraling thoughts. “You had your…I guess I would call it your publicity smile on. Your public smile, maybe? But once you get to know _you_ and not Viktor Nikiforov…well, it’s really easy to see through the public smile. I could tell that one reporter was really making you uncomfortable, asking all those questions about us.”

_…and I know he’s going to leave me and – what? He…_

“You…you _see_ me,” Viktor said cautiously. Maybe it was the odd phrasing, or maybe it was the way Viktor’s voice quaked despite the simple words, but Yuuri immediately met his gaze.

“What kind of stupid question…? Of _course_ I see you, Viktor. I’ve always seen you.”

“The _real_ me.”

“Yes. Always.”

“And you…you want to stay.”

“Stay?” Yuuri echoed, his nose scrunching up in adorable confusion. “I mean, of course. We’re having dinner, and it’s pretty nasty outside tonight-”

“You want to stay. Here. With…me,” Viktor stumbled out. _Please let him stay please let him stay please let him stay –_

“Why wouldn’t I want to stay with you?” And that’s the question that Viktor had asked himself every day for years – ever since his first National Championship win. Who would _ever_ want to leave the darling of Russia? Viktor Nikiforov, Russia’s Golden Star?

But who would ever want to stay with _Viktor_?

Viktor swallowed, or at least he attempted to. It felt like there was something stuck in his throat – and maybe it was his emotions or some words that _~~I love you~~ _were trying to choke their way out of his mouth.

“Viktor,” Yuuri said quietly, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s waist, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m _staying_. You can breathe, okay?”

Viktor let out a sharp breath of relief. _How did Yuuri know exactly what I needed to hear?_

“I’ve always…I’ve always felt like the public chases me,” Viktor confessed. “They’re trying to catch me, trying to hunt me down like I’m their prey or something. They want to…to _have_ me, but not _keep_ me, if that makes sense. They want to praise all the good things about Viktor Nikiforov, but they also want to shine a spotlight on all the parts of me that are…well, human. But what they don’t realize is that their words hurt, and the more I get hurt…”

“The less you can run,” Yuuri finished. “Please, please never run from me, Viktor.”

“Where could I go, anyway?” Viktor laughed bitterly. “I may be a mess of a human being, but I’m a _very_ good actor. And on the ice…well, ice is reflective, isn’t it? I put on a façade, and people see what they expect to see looking back at them. Nobody ever sees the _real_ me. They can follow me and chase me forever.” Viktor grabbed both of Yuuri’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “You see me, though. I couldn’t run from you if I tried; even if I wanted to. You’d just…even through a TV, I’m sure you’d be able to find _me_. And…Yuuri, I’m so glad that you _can_ find me. It means that someone is still looking instead of seeing the shiny surface of Viktor Nikiforov and accepting that as the whole truth.”

[Lover]

Dinner with Viktor was always a special time. Sometimes, Yuuri would offer to cook one of his mother’s recipes. Viktor had been delighted to try katsudon, even if it was a poor rendition of his mother’s. Other nights, they would try to cook together, inevitably getting in each other’s way but somehow turning out an edible dinner. Some nights, like that evening, Viktor would cook, and Yuuri would sit and talk with him. It was a time that Yuuri cherished – and it also reminded him how easily it could all slip away.

"You’re the first person I've ever wanted to hold on to,” Yuuri murmured to himself as he watched Viktor cooking dinner.

“What was that, Yuuri?” Viktor asked, his heart-shaped grin causing Yuuri to freeze for just a moment.

_Please, please let me keep him._

“Just…help me hold onto you, okay?” he said quietly, his eyes staring at Viktor’s skate bag in the corner of the room rather than at his face.

Viktor’s face softened with understanding. “I’m not going anywhere,” Viktor said seriously. “You’re the first person who has wanted to stay with me, remember? Do you think I would let _you_ go that easily? Think of me like…like…Velcro.”

“Velcro?” Yuuri echoed dubiously, finally looking back at Viktor.

“Velcro. I’ve got all those tiny little hooks to stick to you, and it’s _really_ annoying to peel me off. And just like Velcro, I also make annoying sounds if you try to get rid of me.” Yuuri laughed in disbelief.

“The Olympic champion – Velcro?”

“No,” Viktor responded. “Your boyfriend, Viktor Nikiforov, who gets way too excited about maximizing program layouts and buys his poodle dog food that is more expensive than a four-course meal.” Viktor stepped away from the stove, turning to place his hands on the island across from where Yuuri was sitting. “ _That_ person is like Velcro. Do you understand the difference?”

And Yuuri did. He _really_ did. Instead of replying with words, he grabbed both of Viktor’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “Thank you,” he eventually said.

After eating, they curled up on the couch together with Makkachin splayed across both of their laps.

“I think…I think I should tell you about my last relationship,” Yuuri began nervously. He didn’t really want to talk about how things ended with Matt, but Viktor should know – at least so he would know why Yuuri was so nervous about him _staying_.

“You don’t need to, Yuuri. Really,” Viktor said.

“I don’t need to, and I don’t really _want_ to, but I think it would help things between us if you knew,” Yuuri explained. He was having a hard time meeting Viktor’s eyes. What would he think when he heard how badly his last relationship had gone? When he heard how Yuuri hadn’t tried hard enough to make it work with Matt despite the distance?

“If you think that’s best, Yuuri, then I am more than willing to listen. And if at any point you need to stop, you just stop, no questions asked. Does that sound okay?”

Viktor was being so considerate about this – more than Matt had ever been. “That sounds perfect, Viktor,” Yuuri agreed with a weak smile. “So…I don’t even know where to start. Ugh. This is harder than I thought.”

“What if I ask questions?” Viktor offered. “You know that I’m always _full_ of questions.”

Yuuri chuckled. “Okay,” he agreed. “That might help.”

“Okay then. Let’s start simple: what was his name?”

That one was easy and relatively painless. “Matthew Greyson.”

“Ah, Matthew Greyson: my arch nemesis,” Viktor murmured, testing the name in his mouth. He was joking…mostly.

“What? No, he’s definitely not,” Yuuri disagreed.

“Well, if he ever challenges me for your affections…”

“That won’t happen. He dumped me,” Yuuri said bluntly.

“Ah. Okay, well at least that answers _that_ question,” Viktor said. “So, let’s start at the end. How did my arch nemesis break up with you?”

“He called and left me a message while I was in Japan,” Yuuri said bluntly.

Viktor’s face twisted in disgust. “A _phone message_? To break up with someone? How tactless. Any time I’ve had to break up with someone, it’s been with no less than three dozen roses, my most heartfelt apologies, and a prepaid spa day – at the bare minimum!”

Yuuri filed that information away for later. At least if Viktor _did_ break up with him, it’d be done in style – and relatively kindly. “It was pretty hard. He called just after Japanese Nationals. He…he said he couldn’t do the long-distance thing anymore. I’d been home in Japan for, what, three weeks? _Maybe_? He got really weird when Vicchan died, and then I lost the Grand Prix Final…I thought he was just trying to not bring up Vicchan, but it was just strange. It felt like he was ignoring me.”

“Ignoring you? That’s hardly supportive,” Viktor said with a frown. “Yuuri, I promise…I won’t ignore you. I wouldn’t _want_ to ignore you.”

Yuuri smiled wanly, leaning into Viktor’s side. “I appreciate it, Viktor. I don’t like feeling as if I’m…I don’t know, a bother or a burden. You’ll tell me if I am?”

“Yuuri, you’ll _never_ be a bother. Not to me,” he swore. “So, what was my arch nemesis like during your relationship?”

“He was…normal, I guess? He seemed pretty attentive when we would go on dates, and he’d come watch me skate sometimes. He liked to talk about my competitions a lot, and he would always ask Phichit the same sorts of things. He liked hearing about the other skaters and what they were all like.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Did he _only_ ask about the other skaters?”

“No, of course…not,” Yuuri said, but he realized that wasn’t exactly true. Matt had been an attentive listener, but only of some topics. “He…he would ask how I did, but he would normally see the scores online and text me as soon as I finished. Then, when I got back to Detroit, we would talk about the competition, but…I think you’re right. He mostly wanted to know about the _people_ and not really about _me._ ”

“Did you ever consider that he might have been…using you?” Viktor asked hesitantly.

“Using me?” Yuuri echoed in horror.

“No, no, that came out wrong!” Viktor was quick to say. “I mean…well, is it possible he was more interested in _what_ you are and who you know instead of _who_ you are? In the same way that people see Viktor Nikiforov…was he seeing Katsuki Yuuri instead of _Yuuri_?”

Yuuri took a moment to digest what Viktor had just presented him with. It didn’t _sound_ like how Yuuri remembered his relationship, but then again… “Oh. That…makes a lot of sense, in an awful kind of way. I suppose he probably didn’t like me very much, then,” Yuuri said despondently.

“I can’t imagine that he _didn’t_ like you, Yuuri; it’d be impossible _not_ to like you,” Viktor told him, squeezing him close and placing a kiss to the top of his head. “It just might be possible that liking you might not have been his motivation to maintain a relationship with you.”

“So when I lost at the Grand Prix Final and didn’t get picked for Four Continents or Worlds…”

“Perhaps he wasn’t as attracted to…not you, but Katsuki Yuuri any longer?” Viktor suggested delicately.

“That…that would explain a lot,” Yuuri agreed. “It would certainly explain the _timing_ of everything.”

“It sounds like on the whole, it was a pretty…’just okay’ relationship,” Viktor observed. “Would that be a fair assessment?”

Yuuri nodded. “A pretty okay relationship with some pretty shitty motives and a pretty shitty ending,” he agreed.

“Well, then how about this: let’s try to make _our_ relationship a little better than ‘pretty okay.’ How does that sound?”

“That sounds more than okay,” Yuuri said with a grin. “And…I’m really glad I told you about Matt-”

“My arch nemesis, you mean,” Viktor teased him.

“Yes, your _arch nemesis_.” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “I’m glad I told you so you could…understand what I’m coming out of.”

“I’m glad you told me, too, Yuuri. It seems that I have my work cut out for me: I need to make sure that you know you are an incredible catch, and _not_ because you’re Katsuki Yuuri. I’ll make you see that _Yuuri_ is the best thing that ever happened to me.” Viktor hugged him close, smiling when Yuuri’s head rested against his chest.

It was a conversation they had needed to have. Viktor had already revealed his insecurities to Yuuri, and Yuuri had needed to do the same. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders – Viktor knew his fears now, he _understood_ , and he still wanted to stay. Yuuri felt like they were ready to take on anything now – together.

“I can’t wait,” Yuuri responded, lulled into a warm sense of calm by Viktor’s steady heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you've never heard "The Archer" before, please look it up! It's such a beautiful song.


	4. Paper Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri's past is a little cringe-worthy, but we all get through it and are better for it in the end! Also: we hear about Yuuri's past relationship.

Viktor made it his mission to spend as much time with Yuuri as possible. A full day’s worth of training wasn’t enough, so dinner at Viktor’s house became a regular occurrence.

“Wine?” Viktor offered, holding an unopened bottle in his hands.

“Oh, no, thank you! I don’t, ah…” Yuuri scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t drink that often. And when I do, I drink to forget things, whether intentionally or not – I don’t hold my liquor well.”

Viktor hummed, raising an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. Instead, he put the bottle back, returning to the table with sparkling grape juice instead. “Is this acceptable?”

“Perfect,” Yuuri said with a grin.

The conversation was light throughout dinner, mostly consisting of them both reminiscing over past events. Yuuri recalled the first time he had watched Viktor skate more than a decade ago, which seemed like ancient history compared to finally getting to meet him at the Grand Prix Final last year – even if it _was_ only for a brief moment.

“I feel like you made me chase you, Yuuri!” Viktor said dramatically. “Giving me the cold shoulder at the Grand Prix Final, and then waiting _months_ to get to see you again.”

Yuuri felt very guilty. “I’m sorry I was so rude to you then. I didn’t really mean to brush you off; you asked for a photo, and I just…I wasn’t in a good frame of mind, and to be honest, I thought you were mocking me.”

“Mocking you? I would never.”

“I know that now. Still, I should have never thought it in the first place.”

“Well, you definitely made up for it. It’s something special to be worthy of spending time with you, Yuuri.” Viktor smiled fondly. Yuuri just felt bad that he made up for it _months_ later rather than right away.

[Lover]

Towards the end of July, Viktor began to push himself harder in training – maybe too hard. Within a few days, he came down with what the doctor said was just a cold, but Viktor would need lots of rest in order to make a quick recovery. Yuuri was all too happy to force him to get the rest he needed.

“No, Yuuri! Go back to your dormitory. You’ll-” _achoo!_ “-get sick!” Viktor protested, his stuffed nose making him sound absolutely _adorable_ in Yuuri’s very profession, very unbiased opinion.

“You think I’m going to let you sit miserably in your apartment all by yourself? Nope,” Yuuri said cheerfully. “I am taking it as my official duty to be your nurse today, and since today is my rest day _anyways_ , you’ll just have to put up with my overbearing tendencies.”

Makkachin was thrilled to help Yuuri in his endeavors. She did a wonderful job of keeping Viktor in bed by lying on his legs, only letting him up when he really needed to use the bathroom and Yuuri told her it was alright.

Yuuri kept Viktor supplied with Gatorade and soup, passing him his cold medication exactly at four-hour intervals to help with his congestion. The medication did, unfortunately, have a side effect of making Viktor rather…loopy, to say the least.

As the day wore on, Viktor grew tired, and the endless stream of cold medicine didn’t help his addled brain any. “Yuuri,” Viktor slurred. “My beautiful Yuuri.”

Said beautiful man chuckled from his armchair in the corner. “What can I get for you, Viktor?”

“A ring. Make me the happiest man alive. Marry me, Yuuri!” Viktor proclaimed, his words sounding fuzzy but still, somehow, being the clearest words Yuuri had ever heard.

Nevertheless, Yuuri couldn’t comprehend their meaning. “Say that again, Viktor?”

“Marry me, Yuuri! You’re so good to me. You’re so kind and so talented and you’re so good to my Makka-girl! I could never find a better dad for her or partner for me than you.” Yuuri didn’t know how to respond to that. “Say yes, Yuuri? Say yes?”

“Let’s see how you feel in the morning,” Yuuri said instead. Viktor’s resulting pout was almost cute enough that he considered taking his words back and saying yes immediately, but somehow, he hung on to the one part of himself that the Viktor pout didn’t work on (the Viktor pout had nothing on the Makkachin eyes, after all).

Once Viktor had finally dozed off, Yuuri called Yakov, asking permission to delay his training by a few hours the next morning to get Viktor up and make sure he would be okay by himself for the day.

“Fine,” Yakov grumbled after a moment of deliberation, “but you had better be here by 10.”

Yuuri occasionally peeked into Viktor’s room the next morning to make sure he was sleeping soundly – and maybe he just wanted to look at him for a minute longer, so he allowed himself the small luxury of listening to Viktor’s calm breathing in his deep sleep and remembering that Viktor was _his_.

He let Viktor wake up on his own, which ended up being around 8. After a moment of panic (“But Yuuri, practice starts in _thirty minutes how do you expect to get there I was supposed to wake up at 6 and now I missed my morning run and poor Makka hasn’t gone out and oh no Makka will be hungry!_ ”), Yuuri assured Viktor that everything had been taken care of, and Viktor had the day off from training. When Viktor began to worry about Makkachin’s morning routine again, Yuuri was quick to calm him.

“Already taken care of. I’ve seen you feed her on enough mornings that I did exactly what you normally do, or at least as close as I could remember. She also went out on a nice walk and chased some birds. Don’t _worry_ , Viktor. You just need to rest.”

Viktor visibly relaxed after hearing that everything was taken care of. (What Yuuri didn’t know is that Viktor was also swooning over how _absolutely perfect_ Yuuri was and how good of a father he was to his Makka-darling.)

Yuuri brought Viktor a light breakfast of tea, toast, and fresh fruit. While Viktor ate, Yuuri sat on the bed next to him, picking at a stray thread in the bedspread. _Should I bring up what he asked me? Does he even remember?_

He decided it wouldn’t be fair to _not_ bring it up on the slight chance that Viktor did have some hazy recollection of the events, but he didn’t want to be too optimistic. “You said some…funny things last night. Must have been the cold medicine talking,” Yuuri said with a forced chuckle. _He didn’t mean it he didn’t mean it,_ Yuuri told himself over and over. It would do no good to get his hopes up.

“I did?” Viktor asked, scrunching his nose up and tilting his head in an adorable imitation of Makkachin. “I don’t remember anything like that. What did I say?”

_Don’t tell him don’t tell him_ \- “You asked me to marry you,” Yuuri told him, trying to feign nonchalance. He forced another laugh, but he didn’t think he was being convincing at all. “Crazy, right?”

Viktor frowned, pushing his plate away from him. “Yuuri, that wasn’t the cold medicine.”

Yuuri froze. “What?”

“I would very much like to marry you. In fact, I would be the luckiest man in Russia – no, the luckiest man in the _world_ – if you would someday marry me. I’m sorry that I made you feel as if it were a joke in any way because it most certainly wasn’t,” Viktor said seriously.

“You… _huh_?”

“Yuuri, I love you. Someday, I would like to marry you. It doesn’t have to be now. Just…don’t think I only said it because I was doped up on cough medicine,” Viktor told him, offering one of his beautiful heart-shaped smiles.

“You met me…what, six weeks ago?” Yuuri said with a strained laugh.

Viktor’s face turned oddly serious. “I met you more than six _months_ ago, Yuuri. You stole my heart when you danced with me at the Grand Prix Final, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since. Time apart didn’t change that, and you only confirmed what I already felt for you when you came to train here this summer.”

“I… _what_? Six _months_? Where was _I_ during all this?” Yuuri asked in confusion.

“Dancing with me, of course. The banquet? You were so…so _captivating_ , Yuuri! I couldn’t take my eyes off you!”

“I was so _drunk_ was what I was!” Yuuri exclaimed. “I drowned myself in champagne that night. I…did I _talk_ to you?”

“I mean, there was a little talking. You asked me to be your coach, remember? That’s why I thought helping you with your program would be nice after our first date? Don’t you…don’t you remember?” Viktor was sounding more and more unsure the longer he talked.

“I don’t remember anything but the first eight glasses of champagne I had and the screaming headache I woke up with the next morning,” Yuuri answered honestly.

Viktor’s face fell. “Oh. So you…”

Yuuri wanted to pull Viktor into his arms and absorb all the memories of that night from him so that he could remember, too, but it simply wasn’t possible. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I really don’t remember _any_ of it.”

“So I was a bit of an idiot then?” Viktor asked.

“What? Why would you think something like that?”

“Because I came on really strong? And took you on dates that you didn’t know were dates? And started coaching you despite you not knowing that you even _asked_ me to coach you?”

“That doesn’t make you an idiot. It makes _me_ an idiot for getting so drunk and forgetting _dancing with Viktor Nikiforov_ ,” Yuuri countered.

“Maybe we can _both_ be idiots?” Viktor offered, his words sounding so endearing to Yuuri through his stuffed-up nose.

Yuuri flopped back on the bed, resting his head on Viktor’s arm. “We’re such _idiots_ ,” he agreed. “How come you didn’t try to contact me after…whatever happened?”

Viktor was silent for a minute before sheepishly saying, “Because I’m an idiot?” Yuuri laughed. “I didn’t see you the next day, so I thought you…I don’t know, didn’t want to see me again?”

“Who would ever _not_ want to see you, Viktor? You’re great,” Yuuri said.

“Well, you and Makka definitely think so,” Viktor replied, shifting his foot under the covers to nudge at Makkachin’s belly. “I did try to make it better, though. Yakov didn’t tell me you were coming to train here until _after_ you had already confirmed it with him. He didn’t even tell me when he asked you! Once I found out, well…I’ve been yelled at nearly every day since for bothering him.”

“That was only for a week or two, though, right? Just until I arrived?” Yuuri asked.

“Oh, no; hardly! I kept texting him and calling him while I was away finishing up my ice shows, but I mean, you can’t blame me. You’re _you_! Of course I wanted to know how you were doing and what you were learning and what you’re like and what you think of poodles and what your favorite food is and-”

“Oh my god. _Viktor_. You asked him things like _that_?” Yuuri really couldn’t believe it for two reasons: first, Viktor was _that_ invested in him even before he came to Russia? And second, he asked _Yakov_ those things? “Wait, did he _answer_?”

“At first. I got from him that he thought you used to have a dog, your roommate back home missed you very much judging by all the phone calls you got that first week, and that you’re one of the most easily coachable students he’s ever had.”

“How did he know about Vicchan? Wait, he _said that_?”

“Of course he said that. It’s true, isn’t it? Phichit calls you all the time-”

“I know Phichit misses me; he’s _Phichit_! But…the stuff about…”

“The coaching?” Viktor asked. Yuuri nodded nervously. “Of course he said that, too. Again, it’s all _very true_ , Yuuri. Remember, I’ve coached you now, too, so I can also say it’s accurate. As your sometimes-coach, you have to accept that what I tell you is true.”

Yuuri didn’t think that’s how coaching was supposed to work, but he decided to trust Viktor on this one thing.

“As your sometimes-coach, I also need to _insist_ you get to training,” Viktor said in a mock-stern voice as he glanced at his phone. “We can’t have you falling behind just because of little old me!”

“If you say so,” Yuuri teased, but Viktor was right. He couldn’t make Yakov upset. “I’ll be back later tonight.” He kissed the top of Viktor’s head and patted Makkachin, giving her a stern, “If he gets up, I expect you to sit on him!” before reluctantly leaving for training.

[Lover]

Viktor was feeling _worlds_ better by the time training finished that day. He had called Yuuri, asking if he would mind going grocery shopping with him. (Of course Yuuri said yes; doing _anything_ with Viktor sounded like a great time, even if he had asked Yuuri to go watch grass grow.)

They went to a little market around the corner from Viktor’s apartment, picking out ingredients for dinner and some healthier snacks (Yuuri insisted – Viktor tended to keep nothing but cheat foods in his kitchen).

Yuuri’s hands were full as he precariously balanced their groceries, so he quickly pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed it to Viktor. “Can you find however much we need in there? I don’t want to drop anything, and you’re _much_ better with Russian money than I am.”

“Yuuri, I can pay for this!” Viktor protested, trying to shove the wallet back into Yuuri’s stuffed hands.

“No. Viktor, I can buy groceries for our dinner. Just find the money, okay?”

After one more feeble protest, Viktor pulled out the correct amount of money to pay the cashier. He tucked both the change and Yuuri’s wallet in his own jacket pocket while Yuuri picked up their bags.

The walk back to Viktor’s apartment was short but enjoyable. They passed a small park where there were plenty of people out walking with dozens of dogs, and Yuuri begged to be able to take Makkachin there at a later date (and if their conversation from that point on mostly consisted of “Yuuri! Look! A little white doggy!” and “Aww, Viktor, it looks like Makka!” then that was perfectly fine).

When they returned to the apartment, Yuuri spread their ingredients out while Viktor put the change in Yuuri’s wallet.

“Yuuri? What’s this?” Viktor asked, pulling out a rumpled card that Yuuri had forgotten was even _in_ his wallet to begin with.

Katsuki Yuuri

Official Viktor Nikiforov Fan Club

Japanese Chapter

Member since: 2004

He could have sworn he left it in Detroit…

_Ugh. Phichit_! Yuuri growled to himself, vowing to do something equally as embarrassing to him the next time he saw his roommate.

“I, uh, might have been part of a few of your fan clubs,” Yuuri said as he scratched the back of his neck, avoiding looking at Viktor’s face or the yellowing paper in his hand.

“Yuuri!” Viktor said in shock.

“I know, I know, it’s _embarrassing_ -”

“Yuuri, I’m flattered that you think so highly of me!” Viktor said in a pleased voice.

Yuuri’s head jerked up. “Uh, _what_? So you’re _not_ creeped out that I was president of the Japanese division of your fan club?”

“My Yuuri was _president_? Oh, Yuuri! What did you think of me?”

Yuuri was flabbergasted. _What kind of question is_ that?

He said as much to Viktor. “I just…I mean, I know you must have liked my skating. I’m just wondering if you’re…” Viktor seemed hesitant.

“If I’m what, Viktor?” Yuuri prompted him.

“Are you…disappointed that I’m not like you thought I was?” Viktor asked carefully. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know the answer.

Yuuri didn’t know how to explain it to Viktor succinctly. Knowing Viktor Nikiforov was _very_ different from knowing _Viktor_. Yuuri could recite hundreds of facts, scores Viktor had achieved, his height when he achieved his first quad and his height after he had a surprise growth spurt and kept falling in competition for two months afterwards. He could tell you all these things, and if you had asked Yuuri a year ago, he would have said he knew all about Viktor Nikiforov.

But it turned out that he didn’t know _Viktor_ at all. He felt like he did now: he knew that Viktor loved strawberry jam in his tea, and he always fed Makkachin before he did anything for himself in the morning. If he left a room while Makkachin was sleeping, she would always get a gentle kiss on the top of her head and a blanket tucked around her. Viktor had “people” for _everything_ and a dog walker to take care of Makkachin during long practice days, but Viktor would often run back to the apartment – actually _run_ – to see her at lunchtime. He cherished his time with Makkachin over everything else. Yuuri also knew that, despite Viktor’s extravagant personality on the ice, he preferred a quiet night at home to a loud evening at any bar.

He knew a lot about Viktor now, and it was clear that Viktor Nikiforov did not exist in the same way that Viktor did.

Viktor Nikiforov was tangible – to a point. You could take a photo with him, read hundreds of printed interviews, or watch his programs from a dozen different angles. You could meet Viktor Nikiforov, but he was always aloof, as if there were a glass wall between you and him. You couldn’t get to _know_ him.

Because he didn’t exist.

_Viktor_ did, though, and he was very real and _very_ tangible. He was affectionate almost to the point of being clingy, but Yuuri would _never_ describe Viktor as clingy. He was Viktor: he was real and flawed and human, and he was very much _exactly_ what Yuuri had been looking for all his life.

All of that led to Yuuri emphatically saying, “Disappointed? _Hell_ no. Why would I ever be disappointed that you’re _you_ , Viktor?”

“But I’m…”

“Exactly what I’ve always wanted, Viktor. You’re the one I want, not Viktor Nikiforov. I want you as a person, not as a skater – even if I would kill to be _half_ as talented as you are.”

Yuuri pulled Viktor close, resting his face against his chest. “This is all I’ve ever wanted, Viktor.”

“I feel the same way, Yuuri,” Viktor murmured. “Um, Yuuri?”

“Yes, Viktor?” he asked, tilting his chin up to see Viktor’s face.

“May I…kiss you?”

Yuuri was so caught off guard by the question that he couldn’t stop a sudden squeaking sound from coming out of his mouth. “…yes,” he said, the word barely even a breath.

He watched as Viktor leaned closer, both of their eyes closing at exactly the same moment. A single heartbeat passed and-

Then there was bliss.

The kiss was warm and soft and – Yuuri felt silly for thinking the word, but the kiss felt _kind_. It felt nothing like his time with Matt, so even if this kiss _hadn’t_ been good (which it was – it was _incredible_ ), it would have been perfect anyways.

Their lips parted after too short of a time. Yuuri didn’t open his eyes, afraid to see that maybe this was all a dream, but he felt Viktor rest their foreheads together.

“This feels like some crazy cosmic accident. What could have led to me being with you like this?” Yuuri whispered, not looking for any kind of answer.

“You know, my arch nemesis might have gotten _one_ thing right,” Viktor mused.

Yuuri’s eyes flashed open. “Arch nemesis?”

“Your ex, remember? Everyone needs an arch nemesis. Anyways, if he hadn’t broken up with you, do you think you’d be here?”

“Here as in…”

“Here as in holding me or _with_ me or in Russia or…or _any_ of it. Without the bad things happening…well, we couldn’t really have the good ones or appreciate them enough when they did happen.”

Yuuri stared at Viktor for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. “Are you a skater or a philosopher?”

Viktor chuckled. “I have my moments, and then right after, I tend to do something silly to make up for it. Just you wait.” He pecked Yuuri on the lips once more, not nearly as ethereal as the previous kiss but still just as delightful.

“Out of curiosity,” Viktor began when they parted, “what _would_ little Yuuri, president of the Japanese chapter of the Viktor Nikiforov fan club, have thought about…this?” He gestured between the two of them.

“If you told little preteen Yuuri that he’d be _kissing Viktor Nikiforov_ , he’d… _I’d_ have said you were insane. This… _us…_ wouldn’t have even made it into my wildest dreams. If you told him what _Viktor_ was like, I’d have…I don’t know, combusted, maybe.”

“Hmm, being with me didn’t make it into _any_ of your dreams?”

Yuuri blushed, thinking of the times that he _had_ dreamt of what it would be like to kiss Viktor Nikiforov – but at the time, it had felt like the most unreachable, impossible fantasy he could ever come up with.

“Yuuri!” Viktor exclaimed with a gasp. “How _dirty_!”

Yuuri shoved him in the chest, causing Viktor to fall back onto the couch.

“I only dreamt of _kissing_ you, you silly man!” he said with a laugh. “I could never have imagined being… _this_ with you.”

They weren’t saying it, but they were both thinking the same thing at that moment: _I would gladly marry this man._

[Lover]

It was the little things that had Yuuri falling for Viktor more and more every day – he didn’t realize Viktor was feeling the same way.

“Shoot,” Yuuri said, rifling through his bag after practice. “I forgot a spare shirt.”

“Here,” Viktor said immediately, pulling a plain gray shirt out of his own bag. “It’s a little wrinkly, but I promise it’s clean!”

Yuuri grinned. “Thank you, Viktor. I’ll wash it and bring it back to you tomorrow!”

And as Viktor stood there, marveling at the glorious smile on Yuuri’s lips just from Viktor having leant him a clean shirt, he was reminded again, _Oh._ Oh. _I would be more than willing to marry this man – forget rings; I’d marry this man with a shoelace._

And perhaps Yuuri was having a similar thought, although with one key difference: Yuuri, instead of unthreading a lace from his skate, went to a jewelry store and fumbled through a very ( _very_ ) expensive transaction with his abysmal grasp on the Russian language. Perhaps very expensive was an understatement: Yuuri had always carefully budgeted for all his skating costs, but he hardly blinked at a total nearly twice his rent for three months. After all, it was _Viktor_. It was…it was him _and_ Viktor, together.

He met Viktor at the rink the next day with two shiny gold rings. He didn’t even ask; he simply slid one of the rings onto Viktor’s right hand, and to whatever the rings symbolized, Viktor simply said, “Yes,” with his voice shaking and his eyes becoming suspiciously misty.

This was Viktor, who hated surprises but loved to surprise everyone else, who always needed his life to be planned to the minute, crammed full of skating and penciled-in times to eat. This was Viktor, who decided that _some_ surprises were perfectly alright when a man named Yuuri Katsuki was the one doing the surprising, and god, was he so lucky.

Looking at Yuuri, he knew one thing for certain: he would happily take every challenge, every rough patch, and every dreary day as long as he could come home to that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything seems bright and shiny right now, but we're only on chapter 4! How are you all holding up on this feels trip?


	5. Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More soft moments, and Viktor says some important words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used both the original and the remixed version of "Lover" as inspiration (always convenient when a new version comes out when you’re in the middle of writing the chapter!).

Yuuri’s first realization that he probably should have mentioned his and Viktor’s (engagement? promise? Yuuri didn’t know what they were) rings to someone, _anyone_ , that he knew came in the form of a _very_ early morning phone call.

“Yuuuuuri!” Phichit cooed as soon as the line connected. “Yuuuuuuuri, how could you not tell me? Your best friend, Phichit? Remember me? I had to find out from _Instagram_!”

“What? Phichit, what are you talking about?” Yuuri asked in confusion.

“You’re _engaged_ , of course!”

Yuuri paused, his mouth dropping open. “Of course we’re not engaged,” he said. “I just…bought us some rings.”

“ _Matching rings,_ Yuuri!”

“Yes, they match, but…I mean, we haven’t even said we love each other!”

Phichit gasped. “What? _Yuuri!_ ”

“We’re not there yet, okay?!”

“But you’re at the point where you’re _engaged?_ ”

“We’re not engaged!” Yuuri protested again, but the words sounded hollow.

_Oh shit. Am I engaged to Viktor Nikiforov?_

“You know what, Phichit?” he said weakly. “Let me…let me get back to you on that.”

Yuuri was quick to hang up the call so he didn’t have to hear Phichit’s cackling laughter any longer.

By the time Yuuri had arrived at the rink, Viktor was already in his skates and just about to step out onto the ice.

“Viktor?” Yuuri said tentatively, pausing a few feet away.

“Yuuri!” Viktor responded, throwing his arms around Yuuri. “Good morning, beautiful!”

“Can I…ask you something?” Yuuri said into Viktor’s shoulder where his face was currently being squashed.

“Anything, my darling Yuuri!”

There was no easy way to say what Yuuri wanted – no, needed – to ask. (And it was a _very_ good thing nobody else came to the rink this early to overhear.) “Viktor, are these…are we…are we engaged?”

“Engaged?” Viktor echoed, pulling back to hold Yuuri at arm’s length. “Oh, Yuuri, I would _love_ to be engaged to you!”

“So does that mean these are…” Yuuri vaguely gestured with his ring-clad hand.

“They are quite beautiful engagement rings, aren’t they?” Viktor replied, lifting his own hand to line up his ring next to Yuuri’s. “Yuuri, you make me the happiest man on Earth!”

_I guess that answers_ that _question_ , Yuuri mused, realizing that he would need to call Phichit back.

A few minutes later, Yuuri was out on the ice when Viktor grinned at him across the rink, raising his hand to kiss his own gold ring.

That’s when it hit him – well, two things hit him, actually. First, his butt hit the ice hard. Second, he realized that he, Katsuki Yuuri, was _actually engaged to Viktor Nikiforov oh my god what the fuck just happened?!_

“Oi, what are you doing on the ground, piggy?” Yuri barked as he skated by.

Yuri had grown to have what Yuuri decided was a grudging respect for him – especially when he saw that Yuuri was able to keep Viktor sufficiently distracted during training so he wouldn’t pester Yuri about his programs or his technique.

“ _I’m engaged to Viktor Nikiforov_ ,” Yuuri said aloud, eyes wide as he stared at his fiancé.

“Ugh, now you’re being annoying, too! I can’t deal with you two!” Yuri stormed off – well, aggressively skated off – leaving Yuuri to pick himself up off the ice.

[Lover]

“So, uh, Phichit? You were…right, it turns out,” Yuuri began the conversation.

“Right about what, Yuuri?” Phichit teased him.

“Don’t make me say it,” Yuuri pleaded, even though he _really_ wanted to bask in the words once again.

“Oh, I’m gonna make you say it!”

“Um…I’m engaged. To Viktor Nikiforov.”

Phichit was quiet for a second, then “Yessss! Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov, here I come!”

“Uh, Phichit? I’m the one engaged here, not you.”

“Yuuri, let me live vicariously through you! You’re fulfilling my lifelong dream for you that should have been _your_ lifelong dream for yourself all along, but instead, you just wanted to be on the same _podium_ as Viktor. How about you try an _altar_!”

“Don’t you think this is a little…fast, though?” Yuuri asked hesitantly.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“But I mean…it’s only been a few weeks!”

“Yuuri, it’s _Viktor_. You’ve been following him practically your whole life. Are you telling me you _don’t_ want to be engaged to him?”

“Of course not! It’s just…”

“You’re pretty boring and never do _anything_ impulsive in your life?” Phichit suggested.

“What if this isn’t right, though? What if we’re not good for each other and this all ends badly?”

“Then won’t you be glad you had each other for as long as you did?” Phichit reminded him.

Yuuri really couldn’t argue with that.

[Lover]

The following day, Viktor and Yuuri ran together after practice, heading back to Viktor’s apartment to pick up Makkachin, take her for a walk, and then return to the apartment for dinner.

A windstorm picked up in the early evening, much earlier than the weatherman had predicted.

“Should we postpone dinner, maybe?” Yuuri offered hesitantly as he looked out the window. “If I head back now, I should be able to make it back to my room before the worst of the storm hits.”

“Nonsense. You’ll stay here,” Viktor said definitively. “It’s too dangerous to walk back to the dormitory in this weather.”

Yuuri wasn’t about to argue with that. They set about making dinner, laughing together as they set a pot of water to boil for pasta (somehow, Viktor managed to spill half the pot onto the floor walking from the sink to the stove).

They managed (eventually) to safely prepare a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, placing their plates on the kitchen table just in time for the room to turn black.

“Uh-oh. Viktor?” Yuuri pulled his phone from his pocket, turning on the flashlight to illuminate the small dining area.

“The wind must have taken out a powerline or something,” Viktor said. “No worries, though! I have candles!” Viktor ducked below the kitchen counter, coming back to the table with a dozen votive candles and a packet of matches. “We can have a candlelight dinner. Will you join me for a romantic dinner, my lovely fiancé?” Viktor asked as he lit the candles, their flames casting shadows around the room.

_Fiancé._

“That sounds wonderful, Viktor.”

Their dinner was eaten slowly, conversation interspersed with fits of giggles and uncontrollable laughter. It was the easiest meal Yuuri had ever experienced with someone else. He felt no expectations, no anxiety or worries about what Viktor thought of him. He only felt joy.

Cleanup in the kitchen with just small candles to light their way proved difficult. Yuuri had offered to wash the dishes, but Viktor had insisted on bringing the plates to him. It had resulted in them getting in each other’s way, feet tangling together and the plates nearly falling to the ground.

“Want to dance?” Viktor had jokingly said as they twisted around each other in the small space, and Yuuri’s answering laugher filled the kitchen.

Once the plates were safely in the sink, Viktor pressed Yuuri’s back against the counter, his arms coming to rest on either side of Yuuri’s body.

“Dance with me, Yuuri?” Viktor murmured in Yuuri’s ear, his breath causing the hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck to prickle.

“But Viktor, we can hardly see, and there’s no music – not the best conditions for dancing,” Yuuri pointed out feebly, his protests sounding weak to both of their ears.

Viktor hummed, using one hand to pull his phone out of his pocket. A few swipes across the screen and familiar music was playing – Viktor’s free program from the previous season.

“Dance with me, Yuuri,” he said, and Yuuri couldn’t resist. He allowed himself to be pulled into Viktor’s arms, and they swayed around the kitchen in the flickering candlelight.

It was perfect.

The dishes did manage to get washed, although it took much longer than washing two plates and some pots had any right to. With the power out and still having training the next morning, they decided it was best to get to sleep early.

As Yuuri moved to lay down on the couch, Viktor cleared his throat. “Um, I was wondering – that is, if you want…”

“Hmm?”

“You can have my bed, or…it’s plenty big…”

Yuuri felt his heart flutter, and he smiled. “Can it fit both of us _and_ Makkachin?”

“Of course it can!” Viktor replied eagerly. Viktor lent Yuuri a pair of sleep pants and a shirt, and once they were both settled into Viktor’s very large, very comfortable bed, they rolled to face each other.

Their nighttime conversation had a broad range of topics, everything from a barrage of curious question to giggly, overly sappy moments.

“What’s this from?” Yuuri asked, tracing a pale line on Viktor’s palm.

“It was silly,” Viktor said. “I…well, I got distracted pulling my leg up into a Biellmann, and my hand slipped on the blade. It wasn’t even a bad cut! It just never healed right.”

Yuuri followed the slightly raised line with his finger, feeling it over and over. He was grounding himself, trying to remember that this was _real_ , that somehow, Viktor was _his_.

Yuuri had been through heartache, and Viktor had been so lonely – to have each other now? It was a miracle.

“If I were lucky enough to end up with you for the rest of my life…” Yuuri said, “there couldn’t be anything better. It’d be the best ‘happily ever after’ I could think of.”

Viktor curled an arm around Yuuri’s waist, drawing him closer so their chests pressed together.

“I could grow old with you, Yuuri,” Viktor said wistfully. “Imagine being eighty, sitting together with our six poodle children…” Yuuri giggled. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I’m so lucky that I am engaged to you, Yuuri,” he murmured softly.

Yuuri couldn’t agree more.

Viktor eventually dozed off before Yuuri, mumbling in his sleep things about Makkachin and telling her to stop chasing something. Makkachin _boofed_ gently in her sleep, and Yuuri wondered if they were dreaming of the same thing.

Yuuri’s eyelids were growing very heavy, but he wanted to stay awake for just a moment more. He wanted to make sure that this wasn’t a dream. Was he really lying next to Viktor, Makkachin laying across both of their feet? Was this _real_?

Yuuri pinched the skin on his arm. _Yup, definitely real_. It was real, and it was…it was so beautiful. It was such a silly thing to be getting emotional over, but it was _everything_ to Yuuri. He had someone that he…that he _loved_ , even if he wasn’t quite ready to say it that night. He was being treated so kindly by Viktor, and spending time with him was simply…it was something else.

It felt like Yuuri had known Viktor for a lifetime. In a way, he had, but it was always through a television screen, a distance that left an air of mystery around Viktor. On screen, Viktor was always showing his public self, full of dazzling smiles and winks for the audience.

But that wasn’t Viktor.

Yuuri had known Viktor Nikiforov for a lifetime, but he had known Viktor for only a few weeks – and he was so much more incredible than Yuuri could have ever imagined.

As Yuuri drifted off to sleep, he knew one thing for certain: he would pay anything, _do_ anything, just to stay this close to Viktor forever.

[Lover]

The next morning felt much like the mornings Yuuri awoke on Viktor’s couch except for the fact that he was woken not by his alarm but by the sound of Viktor speaking in a hushed voice.

“Makka! Makka, _shh_. We can’t wake Yuuri! I’ll get you breakfast. Come on, girl.”

Makkachin, ever the free spirit that she was, didn’t listen very well. She was thrilled to have not one but _two_ people to dote on her, and her excited _boofs_ were a bit too loud.

“Makka-girl,” Yuuri said happily, his voice groggy and his eyes squinted tightly against the early morning sun. He reached out to pet her, but instead of feeling the poodle’s thick curls, his fingers were grasped by a hand.

“Good morning, Yuuri. The power’s back on,” Viktor told him. “I was going to let you sleep a little longer, but…”

“I’d rather be up with you two,” Yuuri responded, letting his fingers thread between Viktor’s. “Shall we get our darling girl some breakfast?”

Viktor beamed. “I like the sound of that. Yes, let’s get _our_ girl her breakfast.”

After Makkachin had been fed and walked and both Viktor and Yuuri had eaten breakfast, it was time to head to the rink. Yuuri was ready a few minutes earlier than Viktor, so he was collecting his bag from by the front door while Viktor was putting his shoes on.

“That can stay, you know,” Viktor said suddenly, nodding his head in the direction of Yuuri’s bag. “I don’t mind.”

“Stay? But why would I leave it…” and then Yuuri figured it out. Viktor didn’t necessarily mean Yuuri’s skates should be left here; he was saying that he could leave some of his _things_ here.

_Oh_.

“You…you don’t mind?” Yuuri stammered despite Viktor having just answered his question.

“I don’t mind at all,” Viktor assured him. “In fact, I’d be thrilled.”

There it was again: Yuuri changed states from a solid figure skater to a liquid pile of goo that was desperately in love with a man named Viktor Nikiforov.

“It can be _our_ place,” Viktor told him. “I understand that you should really stay in the dormitory most of the time for practical reasons, but when you’re here…it’s not just _my_ place. You belong here just as much as I do.” Viktor smiled warmly at him. “If you want to bring things here or buy anything for the apartment, just let me know. And if you don’t like where something is, I can move it. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

“You’re too good to me,” Yuuri said.

“I doubt that. You deserve the world, my Yuuri.”

[Lover]

Practice that day was…different, to say the least. Viktor was magnetic. Skating around the rink, Yuuri always felt like he was uncontrollably drawn to him.

The same appeared to be true for Viktor, too. Yuuri would land a jump or come out of a spin only to find Viktor gliding behind him, clapping or cheering him on.

Throughout the day, Yuuri couldn’t help thinking of their dancing the previous evening, and Yuuri found himself unconsciously skating the choreography of Viktor’s program from last season.

“Yuuri?” Viktor called from the opposite side of the rink, jarring Yuuri from his movements just as he was entering a jump in Viktor’s choreography.

“Huh?”

“Is that…were you just skating my free skate?”

Yuuri felt himself flush despite the cold rink air. “Uh, yes, I’m sorry-”

“What are you sorry about?” Viktor asked in confusion, coming closer until he was face to face with Yuuri. “That was beautiful! I couldn’t have skated it better if I tried.”

Yuuri doubted that was true. “You…you don’t mind that I was skating your program?” Yuuri asked cautiously.

“Mind? Of course I don’t mind! Yuuri, I’m honored! Can we try it together?” Viktor asked eagerly.

“We’re…well, we’re supposed to be practicing our programs for next season,” Yuuri said, trying to distract Viktor from the idea, “and your music is next in the queue, so we don’t really have time.”

“But we could tonight! Yuuri, will you skate with me?”

Yuuri had to close his eyes for a brief second because _someone_ (coughMakkachincough) had taught Viktor the art of the perfect puppy eyes. There really was no way for him to win here – Viktor’s puppy eyes had become too powerful. “Okay,” he finally conceded.

“Yes! Oh, Yuuri, I can’t wait to skate with you!”

And the more Yuuri thought about it through the rest of that day’s training, he eventually grew to see Viktor’s point. He’d always wanted to skate with Viktor Nikiforov – but now he’d get to skate with _his Viktor_ , and that was even better.

[Lover]

There was certainly something different about skating _with_ someone as opposed to _against_ someone.

It wasn’t the drive for perfection; that was still there in full force, and every time Yuuri missed a step (even though it wasn’t his program and he’d only tried skating it for the first time _that day_ ), he demanded they go again. It also wasn’t the feel of the ice. Yuuri still felt just as powerful yet pleasantly serene as he usually did.

Maybe it was the drive to win. Singles skating was very much a solitary sport; you might train with others, but on the ice at a competition, you were alone. Now, despite it not being a competition, Yuuri had Viktor with him to catch him if he fell (literally).

“Oof, Viktor! Can we please stop trying these lifts now?” Yuuri asked as he landed sprawled on top of Viktor once again.

“One more time? I won’t let you fall, Yuuri. I promise,” Viktor begged. It had been true so far – sort of. Although Yuuri had fallen from every single one of their attempted lifts, his fall had always been broken by Viktor (even if it resulted in _both_ of them falling to the ice).

“Viktor…”

“But _Yuuri_ , think how pretty it would be if we could manage one!”

“But _Viktor_ ,” Yuuri said, poking him gently on the chest, “think how much prettier _we’ll_ be if we’re not covered in bruises.”

Viktor pouted. “I suppose you do have a point. I can’t have my Yuuri getting injured.”

Yuuri felt like preening. _His_ Viktor had said ‘ _my Yuuri_ ,’ and it was…well, it was everything.

Side by side jumps went marginally better. At least they were both _trained_ to do these jumps; it was just a matter of doing them in sync.

Yuuri laughed as he tumbled to the ice, having landed with his weight too far back on his blade. “We’re probably the first pair to ever attempt side by side quad flips!”

Viktor grinned, leaning down to help Yuuri up. “We’ll be the first pair of skaters to _land_ them, too. Come on, Yuuri; again!” It was Viktor’s Coach Voice, and it had the same quality in it that Celestino’s did that caused Yuuri to automatically respond to it. Even if it had been Viktor’s normal voice, though…Yuuri definitely would have listened.

Especially as they were gliding out of their well-timed quad flips the very next time they tried.

As they moved through the program, elements interspersed with giggles like young schoolchildren, Yuuri found what might have been his favorite part of pseudo-pairs skating: staying connected to Viktor and having a legitimate excuse to be touching him on the ice.

Partway through their practice as they were skating side by side, Viktor’s hands on Yuuri’s waist, Yuuri could have sworn he heard Viktor say something in Russian. If he understood Russian better, he would have been able to make out the phrase, “Я обожаю тебя.” He didn’t hear it well and couldn’t have translated it if he wanted to, but…it came from Viktor’s lips, so it sounded beautiful.

(If he knew what it meant, he would have thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.)

[Lover]

Yuuri and Viktor were in no hurry to part ways after their foray into pairs skating, so they ended up at Viktor’s apartment again ( _their apartment?_ Yuuri considered). Dinner had consisted of Chinese takeout (mostly steamed vegetables and rice, but Viktor had ordered sweet and sour chicken despite Yuuri’s protests that it was most definitely not on their meal plans).

Their evening had concluded with them falling into bed together – literally falling. Viktor had discovered that Yuuri was ticklish on the sides of his ribcage, and he _insisted_ on finding out just how ticklish Yuuri really was ( _very ticklish_ was the answer).

Yuuri and Viktor curled up together, pulling the duvet tight around them. Despite being the smaller of the two, Yuuri quite enjoyed being the big spoon. Unfortunately, Makkachin had other ideas. Makkachin followed them onto the bed, laying behind Yuuri, which was how Yuuri somehow found himself as the _middle_ spoon. He hadn’t even known that was an option!

He wouldn’t trade his position for the world, though. He fell asleep with Makkachin’s warm mass of curls at his back, something he hadn’t really experienced since he had last been home with Vicchan ( _god, was that really_ years _ago_? he wondered). His arms were wrapped around Viktor, and he was lulled to sleep by Viktor’s steady breathing.

The morning felt so blissfully _normal_ that Yuuri wished they could do this every day. They lazed in bed for much longer than they should have, resulting in them both scrambling to gather their things and get to the rink on time.

They were both a little harried, with Viktor feeding Makkachin while Yuuri showered and Yuuri taking Makkachin on a short walk when Viktor took his place.

They were in perfect sync in the kitchen, Yuuri making omelets while Viktor made them both protein shakes to take to practice. It was so effortless and so _easy_ , something Yuuri had never experienced before. He wanted it forever.

Viktor agreed. For all his fans and training mates, had never had a roommate – and certainly never one that moved with him like Yuuri did. _This. I want this_ , Viktor thought, pausing for just a moment after breakfast as he watched Yuuri pull a shirt over his head.

They were almost ready to go when Viktor’s mind-to-mouth filter finally stopped working.

“я тебя люблю,” Viktor said without thinking.

“What does that mean?” Yuuri asked curiously.

Viktor swallowed hard. He shouldn’t have said that; not _yet_. “It…it’s nothing.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing, Viktor,” Yuuri pointed out. He waited a moment in silence, Viktor fidgeting with his hands and shying away from Yuuri’s warm brown eyes. “If you don’t feel comfortable telling me, I won’t push, but I would like to know,” Yuuri said patiently. When Viktor remained silent, Yuuri sighed so quietly that Viktor almost didn’t hear it – but he did. “It’s okay. You can tell me when you’re ready. Shall we head to training?”

Viktor nodded, feeling like he was falling, falling so fast, and had suddenly caught himself just before he hit the ground – but he was slipping again.

Yuuri picked up his skate bag, patted Makkachin on the head, and was ready to start their walk to the rink. Viktor stared at Yuuri’s back, watching as he got closer and closer to the door. With each step, the words were bubbling up inside him, so close to the surface until- “I love you,” he blurted out.

Yuuri froze, his breath hitching as he processed the meaning of the words. It shouldn’t have been hard; they were in _English_ , after all, which was a language Yuuri understood very clearly, but these words did not make sense when placed next to each other.

“It means I love you. In Russian.” _Of course it was in Russian, you idiot!_ Viktor scolded himself. Yuuri turned slowly to face him. “You don’t have to say it back. It’s fine. I’m just silly and it came out and I wasn’t thinking and I shouldn’t-”

“I love you, Viktor,” Yuuri interrupted before Viktor could continue. “I love you, and I’m not just saying it because you did. I mean, I might be saying it _right now_ because you did and you need to hear it, but…I would have said it anyway. I don’t know when. You know how anxious I get about things, and I probably would have agonized over this forever so maybe it’s better that-”

Viktor didn’t think this was better; he thought this was _best_ , so he threw his arms around his Yuuri and squeezed the air out of him before matching their lips together.

If this was what loving Viktor was like, then Yuuri wanted it forever. He wanted to experience all the seasons with Viktor, from the summer trainings to the frigid Russian winters and everything in between.

[Lover]

As Yuuri went through the next few days, it felt like everything had shifted somehow. There weren’t a lot of differences, but the ones that were there were…pronounced, to say the least.

Viktor delighted in calling Yuuri “love” as often as he could. His already affectionate nature increased tenfold, and Viktor was being much more affectionate in public, even in front of people Yuuri didn’t know that well (which, admittedly, _did_ make Yuuri a little nervous, but he wasn’t about to complain too much).

Viktor had been pulled out of practice early for a meeting, so Yuuri finished up alone before putting his skates away. He went looking for Viktor, eventually finding him talking to a man just outside the locker room.

“Viktor?” he asked tentatively, walking up beside him.

“I’ll be right there, love. I just need a minute to finish this up,” Viktor told Yuuri tenderly, placing a gentle kiss on Yuuri’s temple.

“’Kay,” Yuuri happily chirped, nodding to the person Viktor had been speaking with before leaving them both to their privacy.

Yuuri went back out to the rink, taking a seat on the bench and watching the last of the day’s skaters finishing up their programs. He was startled out of his thoughts by two arms wrapping around him.

“Ready?” Viktor asked, and they began their daily walk back to Viktor’s apartment.

“What was that about?” Yuuri asked a few minutes later.

“Oh, that was just Ivan. He’s sort of my publicist-slash-agent-slash-financial manager…or something. I’m not quite sure of his job title, but I pay him to keep me from having to worry about the big things.”

“Is there a ‘big thing’ going on?”

“Not exactly. He’s trying to organize all these press events and sponsorship events for this season, and he needed to know my availability for the next week or two. There’s a few photoshoots that I normally take part in, and those need to be done sooner rather than later.”

Yuuri nodded in understanding. He didn’t have any major sponsorships of his own, but even the smaller ones that covered the costs of his skates and blades required the occasional publicity commitment. Unlike Viktor, though, he had to schedule all the events himself. An agent sounded like a big help.

[Lover]

An agent sounded _less_ helpful the following morning.

“Ivan called,” Viktor began when they met at the rink. “I need to leave for a few days for a photoshoot. They need new advertising photos or something – same thing as always,” Viktor said, sounding mildly annoyed with the process.

“Can’t they come to you?” Yuuri asked anxiously.

Viktor shook his head, looking sad. “No, unfortunately. The photographer they want can’t get the time off to come all the way to Saint Petersburg, so I have to go to him. It shouldn’t be too long, though. Yuri will be taking care of Makkachin, but I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you stopped by with Yuri. She adores you. Dare I say it, she might even get more excited when she sees you than me!” Viktor exclaimed.

“That can’t be true,” Yuuri protested, but it was half-hearted. He didn’t like the idea of Viktor leaving for even a day. He knew that sounded desperate and needy, but everything just felt so much…lighter with him around. He pulled Viktor into a tight hug.

“If I’m being honest…I don’t really want to be apart from you,” Viktor murmured in Yuuri’s ear. “It’s only for a few days, though, and the sponsorship is important. But until then, we’ll spend all our time together, okay? Starting with after practice – Yuri and I always go to a café on Wednesdays, so you’ll come with us. Mila’s joining us today, too,” Viktor said decisively.

Yuuri couldn’t argue with that.

[Lover]

Viktor finished his training just as Yuuri was called by Yakov to run his program, so he offered to head to the café first and reserve a table for them. Yuuri agreed, assuring him that he would only be a few minutes behind.

When he arrived, Yuuri found Viktor and Yuri tucked away in the back of the café.

“Yuuri!” Viktor called across the café as soon Yuuri entered the café. Yuuri immediately headed towards the table, noticing that Viktor was sprawled across a whole booth bench. “I saved you a seat, love.” A warm feeling spread through Yuuri, and it wasn’t because this particular café was always five degrees warmer than comfortable.

Viktor stepped out of the booth, allowing Yuuri to slide in first, before he sat back down and wrapped an arm snugly around Yuuri’s waist.

“Ugh, _gross_ ,” Yuri muttered across the table.

“Behave, Yuri,” Mila scolded him. “You’ll understand one day.”

He scoffed. “Not likely.”

Viktor had already ordered tea and a sandwich for Yuuri, so his food was out within a minute. They all ate rather peacefully until the bell of the café chimed, five twenty-somethings entering the building.

At first, Yuuri hardly paid them any attention. People came in to eat all the time; it was a public place! Soon, though, he could hear their whispers picking up in excitement, and despite his limited Russian, Yuuri was _very_ attuned to the way Viktor’s name sounded.

Two of the strangers apparently saw nothing wrong with interrupting other people’s meals – and maybe there _wasn’t_ anything really wrong with it when Viktor was _this_ famous in Russia, but it still made Yuuri feel very unsettled.

Yuuri recognized the word “photo” in what the strangers were saying, watching as they greeted Viktor with happy squeals and brandishing their phones.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t post these for a while,” Viktor said with a winning smile. “I’m sure you understand.”

The strangers must have agreed since there was a lot of eager nodding. The first person, a petite lady, passed her phone to her friend and squatted down next to Viktor to have their photo taken. She thanked Viktor, backing away to let her friend in.

The tall man wrapped a hand around Viktor’s shoulder, the other hand reaching out to take a selfie. Just as he was about to take the photo, he kissed Viktor’s cheek.

Yuuri couldn’t help it: he felt like he wanted to shove the stranger away, especially when the strange man took the liberty of giving Viktor a one-armed squeeze and said, “Спасибо, спасибо! Я тебя люблю!”

Yuuri didn’t know much Russian, but he _definitely_ knew those words.

When Viktor didn’t seem to be pushing the person away, Yuri barked, “Hey, loser! We’re trying to eat here!” Unfortunately, that just drew the fans’ attention to Yuri. “Нет. No! _Shoo!_ No more photos!” He waved his hands at the people, finally succeeding in making them leave.

“Thanks, Yuri,” Yuuri said quietly.

Yuri’s glare kept people at bay for the rest of their meal, and no words were said about the fans – especially the man. Still, Yuuri felt like he couldn’t defend what was _his_ , and that didn’t sit well with him.

When they emerged from the café half an hour later, a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. At first, Yuuri thought it was just a busy street, but the crowd’s increase in volume upon seeing Viktor step onto the street proved him wrong.

“They must have _posted_ about it,” Yuri growled. “Fucking _hate_ when they do that!”

“What?”

“If we’re not careful, people post selfies and tag the locations,” Yuri said in a hushed voice. “Thought those people had more _respect_!” The crowd was circling them, starting to press in closer. “Alright, I’m out. See you,” Yuri said, pulling the hood on his sweatshirt up and pushing his way through a small break in the crowd.

“I’ll make sure he gets back alright,” Mila quickly said, waving to Yuuri and Viktor before navigating her way through the crowd to catch up to Yuri.

“Viktor! _Viktor_!” people were shrieking. Yuuri pressed close to Viktor’s side, scrabbling to find Viktor’s hand and not lose him.

“Let’s go home, Yuuri,” Viktor said in his ear, tugging insistently on Yuuri’s hand. “ _Please._ ”

Yuuri allowed him to be pulled out of the throng of people, but it mainly occurred because Viktor’s words had distracted him: _home_. Let’s go _home_.

It sounded like…it sounded to Yuuri like Viktor was referring to it as _their_ home, and he very much loved the idea of that.

Viktor directed him to the apartment, both keeping their heads down as they walked to try to minimize any other people noticing them and deter anyone who might want to talk to them.

It seemed to work. Soon enough, they were back at the apartment, Yuuri’s breath quickening with each step as he felt his anxiety rise.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said soothingly, easing his fiancée to a sitting position on the familiar couch. He got him a glass of water, leaving it on the table for Yuuri to pick up when he wanted it, and sat next to him. “Yuuri, we’re safe.”

Yuuri shook his head, trying to control his breathing and arrange his thoughts. Sure, they were safe _now_ , but…

“I feel like…” Yuuri wasn’t quite sure how to say this without sounding like an overbearing, jealous boyfriend. “I worry that you’ll find someone else. Everyone that sees you wants you, and they all _love_ you and…that’s a lot to compete with.”

“Compete with? Why would you need to compete with them?” Viktor asked in confusion, taking Yuuri’s hands in his own.

“Because you’re _you_ , Viktor. You’re incredible. The number of medals you have, and the way you move across the ice…” Yuuri grimaced. “I can’t compare to that. I’d be delusional if I thought I was worthy of you. I feel like I need to earn… _this…_ ,” Yuuri said, raising their joined hands, “every single day.”

“You don’t have to earn _anything_ , Yuuri, and you don’t need to compete. You’ve already won me, and this isn’t a recurring competition,” Viktor said with a frown. “An Olympic medal is only ever given once, as is the heart of an Olympic champion.” Yuuri stared into Viktor’s crystal blue eyes, feeling incredibly unworthy of the man in front of him. “You’ve always been the one I’ve been searching for,” Viktor told him seriously.

Yuuri shook his head firmly. “That can’t be true. Even if you _have_ known about me since December, that’s only, what, seven months?” he protested.

“Yes, but…Yuuri, I wanted someone who could challenge me. I wanted someone who didn’t mind that I can have a dramatic flair, someone who supported me and didn’t judge me for being human. I wanted someone who saw me as Viktor, and you do. Yuuri, I’ve been searching for you for my whole _life_ , and now I have you.”

Yuuri swallowed hard. He wanted to believe Viktor – god, did he want to believe him – but his anxiety always made him feel insecure. “You’ll tell me if this _isn’t_ something you want?” he asked cautiously.

“Yuuri-”

“Viktor, if this is _ever_ something you don’t want, I…I just want you to be upfront about it, okay?”

“I can assure you that I will _never_ stop wanting you, Yuuri,” Viktor said. He continued quickly over Yuuri’s protests. “ _But_ , if that ever changes – say you get bitten by a zombie and body snatched by aliens and I somehow don’t still want you – I will tell you, and we will have a very calm discussion about it. Is that acceptable?”

Yuuri nodded, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He felt the tension melt out of his shoulders. “Yes. Thank you, Viktor.”

“I love you, Yuuri. It’d take some kind of anti-miracle to change that.”

_It’s a miracle that you love me, though_ , Yuuri thought. _Somehow, that happened; why should an anti-miracle be impossible?_ “I love you, too, Viktor.”

[Lover]

Yuuri’s insecurities proved not to be unfounded the following day at practice, even if Viktor hadn’t seen it like Yuuri did.

“Almost done?” Yuuri asked, having already put his skates away.

“One more run-through,” Viktor answered, “but I’d love it if you’d watch and give me your feedback.”

“Of course,” Yuuri agreed, settling onto one of the benches and waiting for Viktor to take center ice.

Yuuri was so focused on Viktor that he didn’t notice someone else entering the rink. “Viktor!” Ivan called from the boards. Viktor sighed, closing his eyes for a moment of peace before heading to meet with his agent.

“Viktor, I need to speak with you about a private matter,” Ivan said, glancing at Yuuri meaningfully.

“Shall I wait outside?” Yuuri offered, looking to Viktor.

Instead of Viktor, though, it was Ivan who answered. “If you wouldn’t mind.” It certainly didn’t sound like a request or a suggestion, though.

Yuuri could play _that_ game, too. “I’ll be just outside, Viktor, okay?” he said, ignoring the agent.

“Thanks, Yuuri,” Viktor said with a tired smile. “I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

Ivan didn’t wait to start talking until Yuuri was outside the rink. “Viktor, you need to stay focused. You have another World title to win this year. You can’t have any distractions,” Ivan told him.

“I know, I know, okay? You don’t need to…to… _pressure_ me all the time! I know how I need to train, and I’m doing just fine the way I am right now.”

“I’m not sure that…”

The door shut behind Yuuri, preventing him from hearing any more.

Yuuri waited patiently (albeit anxiously). He assumed Viktor would only be a few minutes, and then he would be able to watch Viktor’s program. Instead, Viktor stormed out of the rink five minutes later, nearly tripping over Yuuri as he waited for him on the steps.

“Are you okay?” Yuuri asked him worriedly.

“I’m fine. He was just…checking in,” Viktor said awkwardly, but his heaving breath suggested he was less than fine.

“That’s some strange way of checking in,” Yuuri said as lightly as he could. He had heard every word – it didn’t sound like any kind of check in _he_ had ever received from a coach, but then again, he didn’t have an agent. “Aren’t you going to practice your program again?” Yuuri asked when he noticed that Viktor was carrying his skates rather than wearing them.

Viktor didn’t hear. “He thinks I’m getting _distracted_ ,” Viktor told him with disgust. “The only thing distracting me is all the press following me around.”

Yuuri felt his stomach drop. “If you need to focus more on your skating, I can…”

“Can what, Yuuri?” Viktor prompted him.

“We can…pause things. I wouldn’t want you to be spread too thin.” It would certainly be hard – and painful – for Yuuri if Viktor agreed, but he didn’t want to come between Viktor and his skating.

“What?”

“He said you’re getting distracted, and since the press is an unfortunate part of your job, I thought…well, I wouldn’t want people to say that this – us – was some kind of frivolous distraction,” Yuuri explained quietly.

“What? No, Yuuri. No,” Viktor said firmly. “It doesn’t matter,” he told him insistently. “ _It doesn’t matter._ I don’t care _what_ people say about me. You’re the best part of my life, and I wouldn’t give that up for the world.”

Yuuri sincerely hoped that was true. With everything going on, the reporters getting more vicious by the day, Yuuri felt like they were going to be ripped open at any moment.

Even Velcro can get torn apart, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, here's the thing: we've hit chapter 5 already, so we're halfway done and things are looking kind of okay...but I promised some big angst with a happy ending, and it's COMING. Are you ready for it?


	6. Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor goes away for a few days, and Yuuri has to handle some big things by himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence in this chapter (shoving and kicking; nothing too graphic – just in case though, it starts with the paragraph saying “hurt him” and ends two paragraphs later where it says “Yes – there”).  
> This is also where the Big Angst starts and Shit Goes Down.

Yuuri sincerely hoped that the Viktor Nikiforov brand of Velcro was stronger than normal Velcro. It was being tested every day now, and Yuuri feared that with each new round of clamoring reporters, little Velcro hooks were being pulled off one by one.

The sea of flashing lights in front of Yuuri was too much. He felt lost, truly _lost_ , for the first time since he and Viktor had begun their relationship (assuming that’s what this _really_ was. Yuuri sometimes wasn’t sure). All the ideas Yuuri had of what being a top tier skater meant…he had thought about the training, the travel, the crazy fans – he had even considered what it would be like to fall into obscurity or have his season be tarnished by a scandal or, god forbid, have his career ended by a catastrophic injury. He had never once considered the impact that the press would have on his daily life. He hadn’t thought it was something he’d ever need to deal with.

Now he knew better.

He felt Viktor tug on his arm, their hands clasped tightly together so they wouldn’t be separated as they moved through the shouting reporters that grew in number every day.

It was hopeless.

Everything about their relationship felt tarnished now, dull in a way that couldn’t be fixed with a quick polish. There were too many people looking in on them, smearing their fingerprints over the shiny surface of their fragile relationship, and it felt suffocating.

Yuuri hated the press. He hated how they swarmed them now when they went out, and once a single photo of them was uploaded online, dozens more people would descend on them. He was starting to fear going outside at all, even just for Makka’s walks or to go from Viktor’s apartment or the dormitory to the rink.

It wasn’t just Yuuri and his anxiety that were being affected, though. Viktor was beginning to shut himself off even more than before. The only time he was open with Yuuri was when they were safely ensconced in the safety of his apartment.

“I feel like I’m drowning,” he confided that night as they snuggled on the couch. “I thought they had finally backed off or at least that I’d figured out how to handle them, but now that you and I are together…”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri murmured, feeling as if he were near tears. He felt guilty. The reporters were there because of _him_?

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, love,” Viktor assured him. “They do this anytime they think I’m with someone. It gets worse before it gets better. It won’t be forever. Eventually…”

“But when?” Yuuri moaned, feeling utterly helpless. “Eventually” was a very broad term.

Viktor squeezed him tighter. “I don’t know, Yuuri. If I knew…if there was a way I could just make them _stop_ …”

They were quiet, neither of them making a sound except for their breathing. It was as peaceful a moment as they could get, all things considered.

“I just…I’m so happy with you, Viktor,” Yuuri admitted honestly, “but sometimes I wish we were different people. Sometimes I wish we could just drive away from all of this. If the two of us were farmers or librarians or just college students…”

“…nobody would be chasing us. We could just live our lives together, and we wouldn’t have to deal with what anyone else thinks about the matter,” Viktor concluded. “I wish we could just drop off the face of the earth. Rent a little cabin in the woods or a cottage on an island far away from all of this. I hate how much this is hurting you.”

“And what about you?” Yuuri protested. “You’ve been…Viktor, I know you don’t do well with the public and their expectations, remember? I know you’re not handling this much better than I am.”

“But at least I’m used to it,” Viktor argued. “This has been my life since I was a junior skater. They saw an up-and-coming star, and the press started to visit. It wasn’t as bad as it is now,” Viktor conceded, “but…it’s grown as I have, and I’ve gotten used to living in a fishbowl with people tapping on the glass to make me entertain them.”

“You can still hate it, though.”

“Oh, trust me, I do,” Viktor told him. “I hate it for me, but I hate it more for what it’s doing to you and to _us_.” Viktor squeezed him close, removing all the space between them so their bodies were pressed tightly together.

“Viktor, I’m scared,” Yuuri whispered into his neck. “I’m scared that they’ll come between us, and I’m scared that I’ll lose you and I’ll end up alone. I’m scared of having _another_ failed relationship and going back to Detroit as a complete failure.”

“That’s a lot of things to be scared of,” Viktor murmured, “and I’m just one person. I can do my best to stop anything coming between us and do my best to be the strongest Velcro you’ve ever seen, but…there’s a limit to what I’m capable of, Yuuri. I’m just _Viktor_. I can’t help with all of that.”

Yuuri instantly felt bad for laying all that on Viktor. “I know. I don’t need you to. I just…I need you to know that I’m scared and stay close to me despite that.”

“Always, darling. And I can promise you this: even if you _do_ go back to Detroit, it won’t be as a failure. My Yuuri could never be a failure.”

Yuuri let himself consciously remember for just a moment that _his_ Viktor was Viktor _Nikiforov_ , and if Viktor Nikiforov said he wouldn’t be a failure, then he wouldn’t – at least not in the skating world.

He would need to trust that Viktor’s words would extend to more than just skating, though.

[Lover]

The day of Viktor’s press shoot was quickly approaching – much too quickly. Before either of them knew it, the day had arrived, and Viktor needed to board a plane.

“Goodbye, my darling Yuuri! I’ll see you in a few days.” He wrapped his arms around Yuuri in one of his patented octopus hugs, then kissed him gently on the lips and on top of his head. “I love you,” he murmured before giving Yuuri one last squeeze and heading out of the rink to get to the airport.

It all happened so fast – “Can I…” Yuuri began to ask, but the door had already closed behind Viktor. _Can I go with you?_ he had wanted to say. _Can I stay close to you?_

_Would he come back, or would this be it? Would he call and break up over a distance just like Matt? Would he…would he find someone else, and dump me like Georgi and Mila said happened to the others?_

It was only going to be five days apart, but Yuuri was so scared.

[Lover]

The first day went fine – but then again, Viktor had only left that morning, and Yuuri had a day of intense training, anyways. Instead of spending time with Viktor that evening, Yuuri went back to his room and called him just before bedtime, which made the distance between them feel a tiny bit smaller.

Being far away made it easier for Yuuri to talk about more serious topics that he normally would feel comfortable with. “I think I’ve been a little bit in love with you for a decade,” Yuuri confessed in the dark silence of his bedroom. He could hear Viktor’s breathing on the other end of the line, both of them trying to get to sleep. “I remember being sixteen, a really new junior and…you were that fresh face on seniors, ready to take the world by storm. I simultaneously wanted to have you and wanted to _be_ you, and now…”

“Now you’re about ready to challenge my world records and you’re engaged to me,” Viktor replied wistfully. “What kind of wedding do you want, Yuuri? A big one? A small one? Can Makka be the flower girl _and_ the ring bearer?”

Yuuri giggled as he pictured Makkachin with a flower crown, trotting down the aisle to deliver their rings. “Makka can absolutely have both of those honors. I would be disappointed if she didn’t.”

“And what about your family, Yuuri? Do you think they’ll like me?” The question seemed obvious to Yuuri, but judging by Viktor’s hesitant, shaky voice, he didn’t think so.

“I think they’ll _love_ you, Viktor. How could they not?”

“Well, they don’t really know me.”

“They’ll know everything they need to. They’ll know how kind you are to me and how caring you are and how much _I_ love _you_. That should be all they need to know,” Yuuri answered confidently.

That seemed to be exactly what Viktor needed to hear. Over the next few minutes, his words began to slur together as sleep slowly overtook him. Yuuri finally convinced him to hang up the phone and get some sleep.

“’kay,” Viktor responded. “Love you, Yuuuuuuri!”

Yuuri chuckled, shaking his head at his adorable fiancée. “I love you, too, Viktor. Sweet dreams.”

[Lover]

Practice the following day was grueling. Yakov had them focusing on their jumps, drilling them until they were immaculate. Yuri complained nearly every ten minutes, and by the end of the day, Yuuri couldn’t blame him. It was quite possibly the most tiring day that Yuuri had experience since coming to Russia, and he wished Viktor were there to make it a little brighter.

Yuuri’s phone rang later that evening. Instead of Viktor calling, Yuuri found Phichit’s image on the screen.

“Hi, Phichit,” Yuuri said.

“Hey, Yuuri!” Phichit answered, but something was off in his tone. It wasn’t his normal bubbly Phichit greeting; there was a forced edge to it.

“Phichit, what is it?” Yuuri asked cautiously.

“What’s what, Yuuri?”

“You’ve got something bad to tell me, so…just tell me, okay?”

“I wouldn’t say _bad_ necessarily,” Phichit prevaricated. “Maybe…displeasing? Annoying, possibly?”

“All of those are synonyms for _vaguely bad_ , Phichit,” Yuuri countered, “and you wouldn’t have called with _that_ tone unless you needed to tell me about it desperately. Is it the hamsters? Did something happen?”

“Alright, alright, fine. It’s not the hamsters, Yuuri, they’re doing great even though they miss their Uncle Yuuri very much.” Phichit sighed. “You know how I always keep an eye on those skating forums and Twitter? You know, because I like to mess with people by pretending I’m just a fan while knowing things about skaters that a normal person shouldn’t know?”

Yuuri was beginning to get worried. “…this isn’t sounding good, Phichit. What did you _do_?”

“I didn’t do anything!” he squawked in denial. “Why would you think _I_ did something?”

“Then what’s going on?”

“There…there was a new thread that started this week,” Phichit said carefully, “about you and Viktor.”

“What _about_ me and Viktor?” _Our skating? Our relationship? Please don’t let them be stalking us…_

“Uh, so, there’s kind of two different discussions going on in the thread,” Phichit answered evasively. “So there’s some people talking about how you might only be into Viktor because you’re a crazed fan, and they’re calling you a bit of a gold-digger? And it’s kind of…getting out of hand?”

Yuuri felt horrified. “What?! Why would people even _think_ that?”

“Well, I mean, most people are big fans of Viktor’s, and…well…you _have_ given a few interviews where you’ve cited Viktor as your biggest inspiration and how you aspire to be half as good as him,” Phichit pointed out.

“…that’s true, I suppose,” Yuuri said. “So have you said anything to them about it to set them straight? I know you like to be Phichit-the-All-Knowing.”

“I tried, Yuuri, but then…” Phichit sighed.

“What else is there, Phichit?” Yuuri asked wearily.

“So a couple people backed you up, and then they started attacking Viktor. They’re saying he’s cheating on you and talking about how he doesn’t do long-term relationships and how you deserve someone who will commit.”

_That’s what Georgi said…well, except the cheating part_ , Yuuri thought. “No. No. That can’t be true.”

“I’m hesitant to believe it, too, and I definitely don’t want it to be true,” Phichit said, “but…there were some pictures, okay?”

Yuuri’s blood ran cold. “Pictures of what, Phichit?”

“There were a couple of Viktor hugging the same girl in different places, which seems pretty silly to me to use as evidence. He’s _very_ gay, Yuuri, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I have, thanks,” Yuuri said with a weak chuckle. “If it’s girls, then…”

“ _A_ girl multiple times, which is why I brought it up. I didn’t know what was going on, and…I just thought you should know, Yuuri. You know I always have your back.”

“I know, Phichit. I appreciate it. Do you think I should talk to Viktor about it?”

“Maybe? I mean, is there a way for you to broach the subject without sounding like an obsessively jealous boyfriend?”

“I can try. He’s been honest and understanding with me about everything else so far-” _I hope_ “-so I think he would be okay discussing something like this. Thank you for telling me about this.”

“Don’t mention it. And…Yuuri? I’m here if you need me, okay? Always.”

“Thanks, Phichit.”

Yuuri felt distinctly off balance when he got off the phone. Everything about his relationship…he and Viktor had known they wouldn’t be able to keep things to themselves, and the increased number of photographers and fans stalking the rink every day were testament to that.

Even though he had experienced nothing like this before, he had thought that they had a handle on it. He thought it was going to get better, not get worse. Viktor had _said_ it would get better.

This had to be the peak of it all though, right? This would be the worst of it? If they could get through this, then it would all be smooth sailing from there. They could just plan for their upcoming season and dream of their wedding and just _live_. He hadn’t had a relationship like this before, or at least not one that felt this _loving_. He was determined to keep it, and things were bound to get better from here on out.

But as it turned out, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

[Lover]

On the third day without Viktor, Yuuri found his way into the rink blocked by a crowd of fans. Some of them were happy to see him and eager for autographs, but they were in the minority. The rest were yelling angry things, and Yuuri could only be glad for Phichit’s warning the night before. He pushed his way through the crowd and into the rink, breathing a sigh of relief as soon as he saw the familiar faces of the rink staff. He nodded to them before escaping into the locker room where nobody could get to him.

Only Georgi was there. He greeted Yuuri with a bright smile that Yuuri found nearly impossible to return. He didn’t have much to smile about.

Yuuri wished Viktor hadn’t gone. He wished he were home, but Yuuri refused to be the kind of clingy boyfriend that would prevent Viktor from doing his job. But…

He was tired. _So tired_. The press and the fans had become relentless in the last few weeks, and it felt like he was fighting a losing battle. If Viktor were here, at least he wouldn’t be quite so alone in this, but…maybe he wasn’t made for this kind of life. Maybe he should just go home to Detroit.

Viktor and Yuuri talked for nearly an hour on the phone that night. He was so, _so_ tempted to just ask Viktor to come back early. The words were on his lips, so close to being said. He could make up some excuse, maybe that Makka missed him (which was true) or that he really needed help on his programs…

…but he couldn’t do it.

[Lover]

The following day, Yuuri finished up his practice early, so he decided to head back to his dormitory for a rest before dinner. Since Viktor was away, he walked out of the rink by himself. What he didn’t expect was to find himself walking out of the rink and into the street, only to be swallowed up by a mob of fans – and not _his_ fans.

There was a lot of yelling as they followed him along the sidewalk, some of them stepping in front of him to sneer in his face. He couldn’t understand most of it, the quick Russian words making no sense to his ears. There were a few English words in there, words that he knew and had hoped he would never hear directed at himself or anyone else.

“Gold-digger!”

“American slut!”

“Go back to where you came from!”

“Bet you just sleep with everyone famous.”

“Viktor deserves better!”

“-just using him to get ahead in his skating career.”

The insults jumbled together, and the people pressed closer around him. Although the fans were the ones closest to him, photographers were scattered around the edges, the flashes of their cameras blinding him and making it difficult to find a way to escape.

“-hurt him before he hurts Viktor!” someone shouted, which was the only warning he had before two hands shoved him hard in the stomach, pushing him down onto the concrete sidewalk. The back of his skull struck the ground as he fell, leaving a heavy, hollow feeling in his head. The sand and stones on the ground pressed into Yuuri’s hands and forearms, scraping along his skin as he was pushed backwards by the force of his attacker.

He couldn’t focus on what was happening. Things were blurry and confusing with faces staring at him and flashbulbs going off and aching pain in his sides that sprang up as someone kicked at his ribs. He curled onto his side, trying to protect himself as much as possible so he could think just for a _minute_.

He could see a familiar building up ahead – his dormitory. If he could just…

Yes – there. He sprang to his feet, swaying dangerously but managing to keep his balance as he charged through an opening in two people’s legs. He had a few seconds’ head start, which was enough for his key card to unlock the building, Yuuri to enter, and him to pull the heavy door shut behind him.

It wasn’t a second too late: pounding came at the door, loud echoing booms that might be fists or the shoulders of people trying to get at him.

And that was all the energy he had left. He couldn’t even make it down the corridor and into his room; he slid down the door, sitting with his back against the cool metal as the pounding continued and rang through his bones.

He stared at his hands, noticing the crosshatching of red scrapes along his palms. One of his legs had a bloody tear in his track pants. His head still rang, and his whole body felt bruised.

He felt helpless.

Who could he call? He had Viktor’s number and Yakov’s number, but Viktor was hours away doing work, and Yakov was still in training. He couldn’t interrupt either one of them. Phichit was on a whole other continent – it was no use worrying him. He was alone.

Yuuri sat there for what felt like hours. Eventually, the pounding died down, and the pounding in his head dulled.

He desperately wished he had asked Viktor to come home last night. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be sitting here, back aching and arms and knees bleeding. Maybe…maybe…

He sobbed.

It was useless.

It must have been a few minutes later when the door beeped to allow access to someone from outside. Yuuri quickly shifted to the side to allow the new person to pass, only to have them stop next to him.

“What the fuck, piggy? What’s going on?”

“I don’t…I don’t know what happened.” Yuuri was panicking. It was a combination of his anxiety and shock from what happened, his breathing picking up and making it hard for him to get words out. “I just…they…there was too many…and then-”

“Calm down, piggy, okay? Let’s go to my room,” Yuri suggested, carefully grabbing Yuuri’s arm and giving him a gentle tug to get him moving. Yuuri wordlessly followed, his thoughts too muddled to question it.

“Did someone hurt you?” Yuri asked once they were in the safety of his room, the door shut securely behind them. Yuuri nodded. “Who was it?”

“Fans and…and photographers, and there was a lot of noise and I got surrounded and the flashing was bright and I couldn’t- and I tried- and I just-”

“Let’s just do this with questions, okay? Just answer my questions,” Yuri told him.

Yuuri nodded in relief. He could handle questions; he knew how to give facts and answers. He just didn’t know where to start.

“Did anyone touch you?” Yuri asked. Yuuri nodded. “Where’d they touch you?”

“I got shoved,” Yuuri said, “and then I…I was on the ground, and people were…I think someone kicked me? I don’t know. There was a lot going on and-”

“Just answer my questions, remember? You can do that. I know you can,” Yuri told him encouragingly. Yuuri nodded again. “You’ve got blood on your shirt. Let’s just…”

Yuri tugged at the black training shirt, and Yuuri allowed him to pull it off. Yuri sucked in a sharp breath as the shirt was peeled away to expose Yuuri’s back. “Damn, piggy. What’d they do to you?”

“I…” Yuuri didn’t even know _what_ had happened really; it had all been so fast and so painful and…

“I think…I can’t handle this, okay, piggy?” Yuri said, his voice shaking in a way Yuuri had never heard before. “I can’t. This is too much for me to do by myself. I think we need to call the police,” he suggested.

“No!” Yuuri quickly replied. “No. No police. _Please_.”

“You were assaulted, Yuuri. Don’t you want to…” Yuri didn’t know _what_ Yuuri might want to do.

“No police, Yuri. I don’t need anyone else to get upset with me.”

Yuri had no idea who might be upset with Yuuri right now, but he decided it wasn’t worth arguing. “Fine. I’m going to call Yakov, though. He needs to know what happened.”

Yuuri started to protest, but Yuri already had a cellphone pressed to his ear. After a second, he was speaking in hurried Russian, a vaguely panicked edge to his tone. Yuuri heard his name come up multiple times, and he could make out a few words here and there related to skating. He heard Viktor’s name thrown in there once, then Yuri was hanging up.

“Yakov’s coming over,” Yuri told him. “He wants to check your back and make sure nothing will affect your training.” Yuri purposely didn’t mention that Yakov _also_ wanted to see how badly Yuuri was injured to determine how much he should increase security around the rink.

“…okay,” Yuuri agreed quietly.

Yakov was knocking on the door to Yuri’s room less than five minutes later, having still been at the rink with a few students.

“What happened?” he demanded, staring at the shirtless skater sitting on Yuri’s bed.

“Some asshole fans attacked him, that’s what,” Yuri growled. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Yakov’s face softened, and he put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “You did well, Yuri. I’m proud of you.” Yuri seemed to straighten up under the praise before focusing back on his rinkmate. “Let me see you, Yuuri,” Yakov said, his tone more calming than Yuuri had ever heard come from the gruff coach before. Yuuri obediently turned around, revealing his already-colored back to his coach. Yakov sucked in a breath. “That’s going to be painful tomorrow. Can you move okay?”

Yuuri twisted, turning left and right and trying to bend over. Finally, he nodded. “It hurts, but…yes.”

“I’m going to get one of the medical staff over here,” Yakov said, sending a quick message from his phone. “They can make sure nothing’s where it shouldn’t be and clean up your cuts. Now, you said no police?”

Yuuri nodded.

“You’re sure about that?”

Yes, Yuuri was _positive_ about that. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself or the situation. “Yes, sir.”

Yakov stared for a moment, finally relenting. “Fine. No police, but I have a few calls to make. Yuri, someone should be here soon. Keep Katsuki from getting into any more trouble,” Yakov ordered, stepping into the hall and shutting Yuri’s door behind him. They could still make out the beginning of the call as Yakov slowly walked further down the hallway. “Dmitri, it’s me. I need you to stop any mention of…”

With Yakov gone, it was up to Yuri to keep his friend calm again. “Yakov will sort this out,” he tried to reassure him, but apparently that was _not_ what Yuuri needed to hear.

“I just feel so _helpless_ ,” Yuuri cried. “I feel helpless and _stupid_ and _weak_. I can’t even…I can’t even walk two blocks from the rink to my own room without getting hurt! What kind of idiot am I?”

“You’re not an idiot, piggy,” Yuri said quietly. “Dumb sometimes, yes, but you’re not an idiot. I wouldn’t be frien- I wouldn’t let myself be seen with an idiot.”

“I’m just so, so _scared,_ ” Yuuri told him. “I’m scared to walk out my door and scared to go to the rink and scared to be with Viktor and-”

Yuri was surprised. “Scared to be with Viktor? That’s stupid. He’s a big teddy bear.”

“Not like that,” Yuuri said. “I just…I love him too much, and it feels like everything in the world is against us.” He felt silly telling all of this to a teenager – but who else did he have right now?

Yuri made a face, grimacing as he stuck out his tongue. “Ugh. Trust me when I say that Viktor likes you _very_ much, and it’s _very_ gross.”

Yuri was saved from any further discussion of the very gross situation that was Yuuri and Viktor’s relationship by the arrival of the medical staff. Yuuri had seen the man before but hadn’t needed any real medical care at the rink until then.

“Let’s see what we’re got going on here,” the man said kindly. He pressed and prodded at Yuuri’s back, causing Yuuri to wince when he hit a particularly bad section of bruising. “Nothing seems to be broken, which is good. It seems like you just hit the ground very hard all over.”

“That sounds about right,” Yuuri tried to joke, but it sounded hollow even to his own ears.

The man pulled out some cleaning supplies and bandages, wiping Yuuri’s cuts with alcohol and applying medicated cream to them. “I’m sorry; I know this stings,” he said when Yuuri flinched at the cold liquid. “Hopefully these will be healed in a few days.”

Once Yuuri had been cleaned up and the medical staff had left, he told Yuri he wanted to go change. He was _very_ tired of being in ripped and bloody clothes, and he really just wanted to feel _clean_ again.

Yuri let him go, although not without threatening to check up on him every ten minutes if he heard so much as a groan coming from the room next door.

It took Yuuri leaving the room and orienting himself now that he could think straight to realize that _Yuri_ had been his quiet neighbor for the last two months. He was suddenly very grateful for it.

In the hallway, Yakov had just finished his calls and was looking determined when Yuuri emerged. “The press will not say anything,” he said without prompting. “You won’t see it in the papers, and any personal footage that happens to make its way online will be swiftly removed.”

Yuuri didn’t want to know _how_ Yakov had managed all that – it didn’t necessarily sound legal – but he was grateful for it nonetheless. “Thank you, Coach Feltsman. And if I can ask…”

Yakov waited for Yuuri to continue, but it soon became obvious he wasn’t going to. “Speak, Yuuri,” the older man said without any of his usual bite.

“Please, _please_ don’t tell anyone at the rink,” Yuuri pleaded. “Not even Viktor. _Especially_ not Viktor,” he told Yakov. “He doesn’t need to be troubled by this. There’s already so much going on.”

“Yuuri, Viktor _needs_ to-”

“No!” Yuuri protested. “I’ll…I’ll tell him if I think he needs to know. _Please_ , sir. I don’t want him to worry.”

Yakov eyed him carefully, his gaze piercing and nearly making Yuuri shy back. “Fine,” he eventually relented, “you’re an adult; you can decide what you do with your life. I will inform the medical staff _only_ of what your injuries are so they can treat you if necessary. Any major pain and you are to come to me or the medical staff, but besides pain, if I see you having _any_ other issues with this, I will tell whomever I see fit. That includes Viktor. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Coach Feltsman,” Yuuri answered immediately. “Thank you.”

Yakov left the dormitory, closing the door to the hallway tightly behind him.

Yuuri stared around the empty corridor, feeling suddenly very much alone. He unlocked his door, entering his small room that didn’t feel much like _his_ room at all. It was just a room, and he was just a person that was apparently not welcome in Russia.

Yuuri showered, scrubbing at his body until he felt almost clean, then changed into his softest sweatpants and a shirt Phichit had given him. He sat down on the bed, his back too bruised and sore to lay down but his mind too afraid to do anything else. His whole body was quivering, shaking with both shock and his own anxiety now.

Viktor would be home tomorrow. He just needed to make it through the night, and then he’d be with Viktor. Even if nobody else wanted him around, Viktor still would, right?

Viktor. Viktor Viktor Viktor-

His phone beeped, signaling a text message coming in.

_Really busy tonight. So sorry I can’t call – can’t wait to see you tomorrow, my wonderful fiancé! Love you, darling._

Viktor didn’t know what was going on, and he wasn’t calling. Maybe that was for the best; Yuuri wasn’t sure that he’d be able to stop from breaking down again if he heard Viktor’s voice.

Yuuri texted back a quick message: _Love you, see you tomorrow_. He couldn’t manage anything more.

Just as he was laying his phone on the bedside table, there was a knock on the door that caused him to jump. Nobody should be able to get into the dormitories except the skaters, but…

He carefully approached the door, looking around for anything he could use as a weapon. He positioned his desk chair close to him, keeping one hand on it as he looked through the peephole in the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief. It was just Yuri.

“My room’s too cold, so I’m sleeping in yours,” Yuri said bluntly as soon as the door was opened. He pushed his way into the room, saying nothing about the desk chair by the door or Yuuri’s white-knuckled grip on its wooden back.

He didn’t say anything when Yuuri’s tears flowed for hours. Yuri was surprisingly kind about it – if ignoring it was considered kind (and by the normal standards of Yuri’s behavior, it was _extraordinarily_ kind). Yuri didn’t comment or press Yuuri to talk about anything – he just squeezed himself into Yuuri’s bed, claiming that his feet were cold, and made sure to press their shoulders together all throughout the night.

Yuuri wasn’t alone, and Yuri made sure he knew it.

[Lover]

Instead of being awoken by his alarm the next day, Yuuri found himself being startled from a fitful sleep by a small hand on his shoulder.

“Oi, piggy. Piggy. _Yuuri!_ You’re having a nightmare.”

Yuuri bolted upright, gasping as he tried to remember where he was and what had happened.

He wished he hadn’t.

“Thanks, Yuri,” he whispered.

The younger boy was quick to back off, rolling off the bed and ducking into Yuuri’s bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, declaring that he needed to get his things together for practice and that it would be silly for them to walk to the rink separately since they’re going to the same place anyways, and Yuri didn’t want to seem _silly_.

Yuri knocked on Yuuri’s door ten minutes later, grumbling about how long Yuuri was taking to get ready, but he didn’t leave the room until Yuuri had both his shoes on and his skate bag over his shoulder. They walked side by side to the rink, Yuri glaring at anyone who dared to come too close (most people just happened to be unfortunate bystanders out for their early morning walks, but Yuri wasn’t taking any chances).

Training that day was…different. Instead of jumping right into practice, Yakov called all the skaters together for a meeting.

“New rules,” Yakov said gruffly. “The doors will be locked once training starts. Today will be the last day you will be going out for lunch. From now on, you bring food here. There’s been too much dilly-dallying on the way back to the rink, and we can’t have that before the competition in two weeks.” There were scattered protests throughout the group, but Yakov quelled them with a single look. “You all need to focus. Is that clear?”

An echo of “Yes, Coach Feltsman” filled the room, and Yakov nodded. “Good. To your warmups!”

Viktor returned halfway through the day, just after Yuri had returned with lunch for himself and Yuuri. Yuuri had mixed feelings about his arrival: on the one hand, he had missed Viktor greatly, and was so relieved to have him back.

On the other hand…

“Yuuri! I am so happy to see you, my love.” He nearly tackled Yuuri, his arms winding around Yuuri’s back and squeezing him tightly. Yuuri’s face was buried in Viktor’s shoulder, preventing him from seeing the pained wince on Yuuri’s face. Unfortunately, Yuuri couldn’t helped a squeak from escaping his lips as Viktor’s strong arms pressed against his bruised back. “Are you alright, Yuuri?” Viktor asked with concern, pulling back to examine Yuuri’s face.

It would be so easy to say no. _So, so easy_ just to say, “No, Viktor, I’m not alright. Your fans attacked me, and now I’m afraid of my own shadow.”

But Yuuri couldn’t do that. Viktor loved his fans, and Yuuri didn’t want to appear weak. Instead, he said, “I’m fine. Better now, actually – I really missed you.”

“I missed you, too, love.”

“How did it go?” Yuuri asked, trying to remain as upbeat as possible.

Viktor shrugged. “It was fine. Oh! Here.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, opening an album and passing it to Yuuri. “There’s some copies of the photos in here. I think they came out okay.”

“Okay” was an understatement – Viktor had apparently been modeling for a line of suits, and he looked _very_ good in every photo. Some had Viktor in full three-piece suits, others with the jacket removed and in a waistcoat and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. He looked stunning, and Yuuri hoped that he would get _many_ more opportunities to see Viktor in a suit.

There was just one thing wrong.

“You don’t smile the same,” Yuuri said quietly to himself, momentarily forgetting that Viktor was standing right next to him.

“I don’t?” he asked, his brow furrowed with confusion.

“Oh! Not in a bad way or anything, just…you’ve got two different smiles. There’s the one you use with me and Makka and people like Yuri, and then there’s this one.” Yuuri scrolled a few photos back, showing a photo of Viktor holding a suit jacket over one shoulder while giving a gold medal-worthy smile to the camera. “It’s like…you’ve got a public smile, and a private smile.”

“They’re not the same?”

“They’re close, but…it’s something with your eyes. They’re not as bright here.” Yuuri stretched up on his toes, pecking Viktor on the lips. His fiancé grinned. “There we go. _That’s_ your smile,” Yuuri said with satisfaction.

Yuuri’s joy felt temporary, though. Once practice began and he was no longer distracted by Viktor’s smiles – either of them – it was all too easy to think about the previous day.

It didn’t help that jumping pulled at his bruises, reminding him of being kicked on the ground over and over again with each rotation on the ice.

And every time it hurt and he felt like crying, his heart begged to be comforted by Viktor – but he couldn’t _tell_ Viktor. Viktor would…Yuuri wasn’t sure _what_ Viktor would do, but he knew that telling him would upset him. Instead, he remained silent and gritted his teeth through the pain.

[Lover]

Yuuri had opted not to stay at Viktor’s the previous night (he told Viktor it was because he wanted to sleep in the following morning and have a shorter walk to the rink, but really, Yuuri was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from crying in the middle of the night). As a result, he found himself needing to get to the rink – alone.

Yuuri was hesitant to walk to the rink by himself, but it was just from his dormitory. It was broad daylight, and there were lots of people around. He’d be fine.

(Yuuri ignored the voice inside his head saying, _You were attacked on the way to your dorm. It was broad daylight then, too. There were lots of people – that’s how they surrounded you. You weren’t fine._ )

He was halfway there. He could _see the rink_ , tall and impressive with its glass wall across the front. He could see the rink, so he was safe.

“Yuuri Katsuki?” a man in a sharply pressed suit called from a few meters down the sidewalk.

“Yes? Can I help you?” Yuuri answered politely, but inside, he was ready to run – or fight. He didn’t know which.

_This could be fine_ , _though_ , he reminded himself. It could just be for an autograph. He _had_ been getting noticed more frequently in Saint Petersburg than in Detroit, and many of those interactions were _perfectly_ fine (not all of them, though).

“This won’t take long,” the man said, his eyes squinting together in a way that unnerved Yuuri further. “I hear that you are involved with Viktor Nikiforov.”

“I…what?” Yuuri was taken off guard.

“I’d suggest you back off. He’s been seeing other people, and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“How would you know?” Yuuri asked forcefully.

“Think it over.” The man hurried off, leaving Yuuri staring in his wake.

_No. It can’t be true. It’s just some strange, crazy guy who is prying into other people’s affairs. Just some nosey guy who can’t mind his own business._

_Yeah. That’s all it is._

Yuuri ran the last sentence over and over in his head as he finished walking to the rink, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if he could physically keep himself from unraveling.

_He’s just some crazy guy. He doesn’t know anything_ , he thought as he opened the rink door.

_It can’t be true_ , he thought as he put his skates on.

_Viktor would never cheat on me_ , Yuuri thought as he took to the ice. Viktor was waving at him across the rink, so Yuuri forced a smile on his face.

_All lies._

But as the day went on, the man’s words still wouldn’t leave Yuuri’s thoughts. There was too much that was adding up, and not in a good way.

The man’s words…Phichit’s call…Mila’s conversation with Georgi…and then a few weeks back when they had taken Yuuri out for drinks: “ _He’s not one to make commitments_ ,” Georgi had said, and it echoed through Yuuri’s mind.

Yuuri felt like all his thoughts and feelings were roiling inside him like an angry storm. There was so much pressure and confusion and…and…

He didn’t know what to do.

“No,” Yuuri murmured to himself before bed that night. “This will all pass. It’s just…it’s just a rough patch. It’ll get better.”

[Lover]

The final straw came when Yuuri found his fiancé backed against the wall outside the rink just a day later, a thin man with dark hair chest to chest with Viktor, their mouths so close to each other and their foreheads pressed together.

Yuuri stormed into the rink, managing to keep himself together until Viktor sat next to him, his breathing heavy and hands quivering as he put his skates on. Yuuri hadn’t even taken his out of their bag.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Is this a game to you, Viktor? Am I just some…some…some stupid fan who you thought you could wine and dine and then _ditch_?”

Viktor’s hands dropped from his skate laces, his mouth dropping open in shock. “What? No, of course not, Yuuri! Where would you get that idea?” Viktor asked, horrified at the thought.

“I’m not going to let you play with me like you did with all the others,” Yuuri told him, ignoring Viktor’s words. “Not anymore.”

Viktor grabbed for Yuuri’s hands, but they were pulled sharply away. “Yuuri, please. I don’t know what’s going on right now, but please let me explain,” he pleaded desperately. “Let’s just go home, and I’ll make us some tea, and we can talk, okay? We can figure out whatever this is. _Please_ , Yuuri.”

“No, Viktor,” Yuuri told him. He reached for his hand, sliding off his small gold band and pressing it into Viktor’s palm. “I…please, take it. I can’t- I can’t- I just _can’t_ , okay?” Yuuri’s words were quiet, but to Viktor’s ears, they might have been screamed. “I’m done being some stupid prize you won, ready to get thrown away the second you find something shinier.” Yuuri grabbed his skate bag and turned his back to Viktor before the prickling in his eyes could turn to actual tears, walking to the door as calmly as he could. He’d save the running until after he was outside.

Yuuri could hear the whispers that followed him out of the rink. There wasn’t any way he could block them out; as soon as he had started yelling, the echoes had filled the rink and all conversation had ceased.

Yuuri had always thought of Viktor as perfect, as his prince charming. He knew the truth now, though: his prince charming, his prince on ice, was really an ice prince instead. Viktor kept his heart close, only allowing it to thaw for a short time before refreezing it the moment the environment changed to something he didn’t like.

And somehow, Yuuri had let himself get caught by surprise. He had prepared himself to get burned with fire – he hadn’t even considered ice.

He had known this wasn’t going to last. Georgi and Mila had told him about Viktor’s last relationships, but he had just hoped _so much_ that this one would be different, that somehow, some way, this relationship wouldn’t end like Yuuri’s relationship with Matt had.

But it had.

At least this time, _Yuuri_ had been the one to end it. He had saved himself from being blindsided by a phone message while being halfway around the world.

Was that really _saving_ himself, though? Should he have just not gotten involved in the first place?

Yuuri found himself in front of his room in the dormitory, feeling lost. He didn’t want to be here alone. He wanted to be with _Viktor_ , but…it seemed that Viktor had someone else. Someone who wasn’t _Yuuri_ , his _fiancé_.

He didn’t have anywhere to go. He had gotten so used to spending his time with Viktor that, to suddenly not have him as an option, Yuuri felt like he was stranded at sea.

And it wasn’t like he could _avoid_ Viktor. His whole world was skating, and he was presently training in _Russia_. Every sports channel was showing Viktor, every poster in the rink had his name; hell, there was even a board displaying Olympic medalists in the front entryway, and Viktor’s name was on there _three times_ , each with its own small brass plate.

Yuuri was doomed.

[Lover]

The following day at the rink was _beyond_ hard. Viktor didn’t say a word to Yuuri; he hardly even looked like anything was bothering him.

_Maybe this doesn’t bother him at all_ , one part of Yuuri argued. _Maybe you were just a pastime, and now he’s just moving on since it’s over._

“We took a bet,” one of the younger junior boys called across the rink. “We think you’ll be heading back to Detroit with your tail between your legs by the end of the week.”

Yuuri couldn’t understand it; why would any of the skaters say something like that? They hadn’t even _talked_ to Yuuri before, and now…this?

“Probably best to just withdraw from the season now!” another boy yelled, his words punctuated by the echoing laughter of his friends.

“Don’t listen to them, piggy. They’re just idiot juniors. Glad I’m out of there,” Yuri grumbled.

Yuuri tried to ignore the other skaters for the rest of the day, sticking close to Yuri and, surprisingly, not being scolded for it by the other boy. Unfortunately, the comments didn’t stop, even when Yuri glared at the younger kids.

Viktor heard all of it and didn’t say a word.

By the end of the day, Yuuri was overwhelmed. He’d had enough, and he tucked himself away in the corner of the locker room when he couldn’t hold back his tears any longer.

“Hey, piggy? …Yuuri?” Yuri called from the locker room door a few minutes later.

“You are the only one who seems to care,” Yuuri mumbled into his arms. “Viktor certainly doesn’t.”

“What was that, piggy?”

“I said that you care,” Yuuri said more clearly, still hiding his face. “I appreciate it.”

Yuri scoffed. “Yeah, well, don’t tell anyone else about that. It would ruin my reputation.”

That finally earned a chuckle from Yuuri. He lifted his face to look at the younger boy. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. _Really_ ,” Yuri insisted, trying not to stare at the tear tracks running down Yuuri’s face. “If it’s any consolation,” he said after an awkward moment of silence, “I prefer you to Viktor. You’re more of a challenge.”

Yuuri’s face grew confused. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment, but you have a much greater chance of beating me than Viktor.”

“Not in skating,” Yuri said with a bark of laughter. “We all know Viktor is the literal gold standard of figure skating. He likes to ignore me, though, unless it comes to critiquing my programs. He looks at me like a little kid. You don’t. You’ve tried to get to know me, even when I didn’t make it easy. I can’t very well let you sit here and wallow in pity.”

“I can just go back to my dormitory,” Yuuri said sullenly. “It’s fine. I feel a little better now, and I appreciate your-”

“I’m going to visit my дедушка,” Yuri interrupted. “I’m paying for a cab anyways. It would be stupid to go alone, and I don’t want to look stupid.” _I want you to go with me_ remained unsaid, and they both knew that the words would never come out of Yuri’s mouth.

[Lover]

The cab pulled up to a small house. It looked to only have a few rooms, but it seemed just as warm and inviting as the onsen had ever been back home.

Yuri didn’t even need to knock on the door. Instead, it was swung open as they reached the front step by an elderly man. “Yurochka! I made pirozhki. And who is this?”

“This is Yuuri. He’s here for the summer training program. Yuuri, this is my дедушка.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Yuuri said quietly, extending a hand to the graying man in front of him.

“I’m happy to finally meet one of Yurochka’s friends. Come – I made dinner!”

For the time they spent eating and playing cards after dinner, Yuuri felt…not quite free, but at least lighter. He felt like he could forget about Viktor and his injuries for a minute and just pretend he was with family (he could very easily ignore the fact that his family had suddenly become very Russian, especially considering the incredible quality of the food). It made him feel significantly less like the outcast he was at the rink, and instead, he had been welcomed with open arms (and paws – Yuuri was thrilled to meet Potya, Yuri’s very fluffy cat).

Kolya, as Yuri’s grandfather had insisted Yuuri call him, didn’t mind having an extra guest stay overnight. In fact, he was delighted to finally meet one of Yuri’s friends, despite Yuri’s protests that Yuuri “wasn’t his friend” and was “just some boring rink idiot with nothing better to do than tag along.”

Yuuri hadn’t brought any pajamas – he hadn’t been thinking about staying overnight, really. He had just wanted to _escape_ , so he followed Yuri. Kolya readily offered Yuuri a spare shirt, and Yuri passed him a pair of sweatpants that were oversized on the younger boy but fit Yuuri fine.

Yuuri hadn’t even given it a thought when he and Yuri went to change in the same room. He took off his glasses and pulled his training shirt over his head, fumbling for the blurry outline of Kolya’s shirt sitting on the dresser.

Yuri sucked in a sharp breath. “Geez, piggy. That doesn’t look nice.” Yuuri’s back was a mottled mess of purple, green, and yellow bruising. The majority of it was centered around his lower spine and hips, which had taken the brunt of Yuuri’s fall.

“It’s gotten a little better,” Yuuri said, quickly pulling the borrowed shirt on. It was much too big on his small frame (the other option would have been one of Yuri’s shirts, which _definitely_ wouldn’t have fit), but at least it hid his back from any more scrutiny. Yuuri really just wanted to _forget_ about his back, but it was hard to do that with it twinging every time he made a wrong move.

He slept easily that night. Despite laying on the too-short couch that had seen better days, he felt much safer than in his dormitory. In his bed, he was only a few hundred feet away from where he got attacked; here, it might as well be a different continent.

Yuuri woke up the next morning to the sound of clattering pans in the kitchen, a sound that reminded him all too well of Phichit’s attempts at homemade pancakes on Sunday mornings. He was slightly disappointed to wake up to Kolya moving in the kitchen instead of Phichit, but he was filled with a warm sense of _home_ when Kolya said, “I’m making bliny for you boys.” He had said “ _you boys_ ” as if he were just as fond of having Yuuri there as his own grandson.

The warm, vibrating weight on his chest also helped to make Yuuri feel a bit more like he was at home. Yuuri had never had a cat before, so Potya felt like a nice reminder of what having a pet was like without being _too_ close to Vicchan or Makkachin.

They had to return to the rink for training all too soon, but visiting Yuri’s grandfather had helped. Even though the trip was only a few hours long, it was an escape that Yuuri had desperately needed. It made him feel a little less like he was adrift in the middle of a strange country and gave him a small taste of familial love – something he had been lacking in the past few years, so he savored every moment of it.

[Lover]

Yuuri made another escape from the rink that afternoon. He had finished his practice for the day with the rest of the summer students, and even though he was tempted to stay after and continue practicing, Viktor was there – and he wasn’t saying a word to Yuuri, which might have even been worse than if he said something _bad_ to him.

Instead, Yuri and Viktor were left alone at the rink for the afternoon. Yuri was desperate to work on his quads, and Viktor had begrudgingly agreed to spot him.

“I didn’t know that ‘spotting me’ meant ‘standing on the ice like a loser,’” Yuri said loudly in the empty rink. “What has _you_ wallowing?” Yuri asked. When Viktor didn’t reply, Yuri grunted. “Oh, I get it. It’s still about little piggy. Why don’t you just go talk to him?”

“That’s not it,” Viktor said. He paused for a moment, then said, “Okay, so maybe it is a little, but he…he broke up with me, so I’m leaving him alone. It’s what he wants. This time it’s more about…well, I got attacked this morning.”

“Again, Viktor?” Yuri said in disgust. “When will those crazy fans leave you alone?”

“I don’t know, Yuri. I worry about you, too, especially since you’ll be joining seniors this year…” Viktor said with a sigh.

“Why don’t you get a bodyguard, then?” Yuri suggested.

“For the fifteen-minute jog to the rink? I’d feel so stupid, and I’d lose all my privacy…”

“You’re stupid about a lot of things, old man, but your safety shouldn’t be one of them,” Yuri told him seriously. “Either get a bodyguard or…I don’t know, move or something. You can’t just let this happen again and _wallow_ in it!”

Yuri skated off, frustrated that Viktor was _still_ not listening to him. He set up for a quad toeloop, landing the jump, and returning back to face Viktor.

“Did you see that at _all_?” Yuri asked him.

“See what?” Viktor asked, skating in small figure eights as he stared at a paper in his hands.

“Ugh! You’re useless,” Yuri grumbled. “If you’re upset about Yuuri, why don’t you just _talk_ to him? You can at least _try_ and make things better!”

“He broke up with _me_ though,” Viktor said, not looking up from the paper. “I don’t think trying to force him to talk to me again will make _any_ of this better.”

Yuri made a noncommittal sound. “Speaking of better,” Yuri said, “he’s physically looking better. _Not in a gross way, old man!_ ” Yuri was quick to point out when he saw Viktor looking vaguely horrified. “I just mean that he’s definitely not as bruised as he was. They’re all nasty green now, but at least they’re healing,” Yuri told Viktor. “I know you didn’t see his back initially, and I know you two are kind of broken up, but I just thought you should know, old man,” Yuri said with a shrug.

“Know what, Yuri?” Viktor asked distractedly, gliding back to the boards and setting the paper down to make a small correction.

“About Yuuri. His fall, remember? Well, getting _pushed_ , I suppose.” Yuri was beginning to look confused. “When you were gone?” he prompted, trying to get Viktor to pay more attention to their one-sided conversation than the program layout in front of him. Yuri slammed a hand down on top of the paper. “Are you even listening to me, old man?!”

“What’s the big deal, Yurio? Yuuri fell on a jump and got a bruise, right? It happens to all of us.”

“Don’t call me that!” Yuri growled. “And he didn’t _fall on a quad_ , Viktor; your _fans_ pushed him onto the _sidewalk_!”

“He… _what_?” Viktor was dumbfounded, finally giving Yuri’s words the attention they deserved.

“Yes. You left, and your shitty fans were absolutely _rabid_. Didn’t Yuuri tell you?” Yuri had a feeling he already knew the answer, though.

“I…he didn’t…” Viktor felt absolutely lost. “Why didn’t this make the news at all?” he asked instead.

“Yakov,” Yuri said simply. “He called that friend of his – the scary rich one. You know nothing gets printed that Yakov doesn’t like.”

That was true – Yakov had always had more sway with the press than any usual coach, and it had always come in handy when injuries or scandals occurred at the rink (not that they had many of those, but Viktor supposed _this_ counted as a scandal).

“So,” Yuri said, “are you really going to just let those fans keep _attacking_ you and everyone else?”

“No, I can’t let that happen.”

“ _Good_ ,” Yuri said emphatically.

Viktor pursed his lips, looking more determined than he had in days. “This answers both of my questions, doesn’t it?” Viktor mused. “I can’t get back with Yuuri because he could get hurt again, but I also need to _do_ something about these fans.”

Yuri felt like facepalming. _What an idiot this old man is_ , he thought. “That’s- no, that’s _not_ what I meant!”

Viktor ignored him. “I’ve got some calls to make.” He hurried to leave the ice, barely pausing to put on his skate guards and forgetting his paper entirely.

“Old man- hey, hey _Viktor_!” Yuri called after him. “That’s not- I’m not done talking about this! Hey. Hey!” he yelled as Viktor entered the locker room. “Aren’t you supposed to be _spotting me_?” he yelled at the closed door. “Ugh!” His voice echoed around the rink, but there was no one left to hear it.

[Lover]

Two men in dark suits became fixtures at the rink on a rotating basis. In the morning, a light-haired man could be seen standing next to the rink door, then moving inside after training began. In the afternoon, a dark-haired man took his place and stayed until the final skater had left the rink, sometimes staying as late as 8 or 10 at night when Viktor refused to leave (Viktor ensured that he was paid extra).

Viktor didn’t mention what he had done to anyone. Yakov had raised an eyebrow the first day he saw them standing watch over the rink, but Viktor had simply given him a steady look and raised a challenging eyebrow in return. Yakov ultimately said nothing.

Yuri scoffed when he saw the man standing outside that morning, but silently, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had been so, _so_ worried about Yuuri, even if he’d never tell anyone that. He was tired of trying to be an adult and protect the people he car- the people he had to train with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, time to check in. How are your feels? I promise, things will get better for them!


	7. Death by a Thousand Cuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri handles his heartbreak (but in a constructive way).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music for Yuuri’s programs in this chapter are:  
> Short Program - Exogenesis Part 3: Redemption by Muse  
> Free Program - The Earth Prelude by Ludovico Einaudi

A man in a suit sat on the steps by the door to the rink, sipping slowly at a cup of coffee. He glanced at Yuuri before quickly turning his attention back to the street again, and Yuuri paid him no mind.

The rink had a bank of windows that looked out on the street. There were shades that often blocked the windows, but today they were pulled back, allowing Yuuri to see Viktor skating laps around the ice. Yuuri stopped, watching mesmerized as Viktor would occasionally jump, pulling a quad out of nowhere like it was as easy as breathing. Watching Viktor skate, it was so simple to remember why he had allowed himself to stay in a relationship with him for so long.

It had been too good to be true. He really should have known this wouldn’t work out. What were the success rates on Viktor’s relationships? Apparently low, according to Georgi. Yuuri’s only relationship before Viktor ended in disaster, so that’s a 0% success rate right there. If that were one of his quads – well, it wouldn’t be a quad, now would it?

_It certainly didn’t have the success rate of one of Viktor’s quads_ , Yuuri thought as Viktor landed yet another flawless quad flip.

He normally practiced this early, but he really didn’t want to be alone with Viktor for a whole hour until training began. Did he _really_ need the extra hour of morning practice? (He probably did, but he decided to hide out in a nearby café anyway.)

Yuuri had left the window before he could watch Viktor miss his very next jump, his axis tilting dangerously in the air and his body sprawling onto the ice before he got up and tried again.

[Lover]

Yuuri’s practice deteriorated throughout the week, and it wasn’t just from avoiding Viktor (although that certainly was a contributing factor). His jumps were getting sloppy, his spins were slower, and everyone around had begun to notice that Yuuri’s heart just wasn’t in it.

“Katsuki, in my office,” Yakov gruffly ordered. He barely waited for Yuuri to sit down, shutting the office door tightly behind him, before talking. “You’re not happy,” he stated. Yuuri didn’t respond. “What is it?”

Yuuri grimaced. “I…really want to go back to Detroit.” He was purposely avoiding looking out Yakov’s glass wall so he wouldn’t be faced – yet again – with the exact reason he wanted to leave.

“We have a contract, Yuuri,” Yakov reminded him. “There aren’t really any repercussions for breaking that contact early, but I’d like to remind you that we _did_ make an agreement and that your scholarship could have gone to another skater if you didn’t want to train here.”

Yuuri instantly felt guilty. He had been so lucky that Yakov had invited him to train here – and he made sure the costs were covered, too! And now he wanted to throw that away, all for…for a man? Even if that man _was_ Viktor Nikiforov, was he worth Yuuri’s dreams?

(Yuuri ignored the part of him that said yes, instead letting his logical side take precedence.)

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Coach Feltsman. I’ll do better, I promise.”

[Lover]

Yuuri tried to put more effort into his practice, but his evening session wasn’t going well. For Yuuri’s current level of training, “not going well” translated to “miserable and he’d be better off quitting and taking up basket weaving.” For every jump Yuuri landed, he was falling – hard – on three more. It was, to put it simply, Yuuri’s worst day in training since Vicchan died.

In a way, Yuuri felt like a little more of Vicchan _had_ died. Vicchan had been named for Viktor; he had been named to remind Yuuri of what he was striving for, of his inspiration and his hopes and his dreams.

Now, he knew the truth.

Viktor wasn’t everything Yuuri had thought he was. He should have expected it, though. It wasn’t fair to Viktor, really: Yuuri had held him on such a high pedestal that the only way he could go was…down.

Like Yuuri on another botched triple lutz.

“Dammit!” Yuuri yelled in the nearly empty rink. He slammed his fists hard on the ice, regretting it a second later as he felt an ache in his hands.

“Maybe it’s best if you finish up for the night, Yuuri,” Georgi suggested as he came to a stop in front of him. “You’re not going to help yourself by falling and falling – you’ll just make it harder on yourself tomorrow. Go back to your room and get some rest.”

Yuuri sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “I guess you’re right,” he reluctantly agreed.

“See you tomorrow?” Georgi said.

“I guess,” Yuuri responded. _I wish I could just go back to Detroit, though. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m tired of seeing everything scream Viktor Viktor Viktor._

[Lover]

Training the next morning was not much better. His practice was riddled with errors: a turnout here, a hand down there; he even fell in the middle of his step sequence. His _step sequence_!

After every mistake, Yuuri would stare down at the ice, never making eye contact with the other skaters. He had already seen too much of what he would be sure to find there: Viktor’s pitying gaze and Yuri’s concerned looks. (When Yuri showed anything other than annoyance towards you, you _knew_ it was bad.)

The biggest issues came with his quad flip. As he practiced parts of his programs over and over, every time Yuuri would prepare for the flip, something would happen. He would pop the jump, or he would freeze before even getting into the air. His mind would back out, and he didn’t want that to happen in the middle of a quad flip half a meter in the air – that could be disastrous.

During the full run through of his free program, he went into the quad flip like he used to, only to find himself flat on his back a second later. He wasn’t even sure how it had happened.

Could he move? Sure. Did he want to move? Not really. The ice was cold, and it soothed both his bruised heart and what would soon be black and blue bruises on his thigh from how he landed.

“Up, Katsuki! Keep going,” Yakov yelled in frustration from the boards.

With a sigh, Yuuri stared at the ceiling for one more second before standing up and skating off the ice.

“Katsuki, this is your assigned practice time! Where do you think you’re going?!”

“I’ll practice later,” he murmured, pulling his skate guards on and walking to the locker room.

“I won’t be here later to help you!” Yakov called down the corridor, but Yuuri refused to answer.

He left the rink as quickly as he could, running a few blocks until he found himself breathing hard at the edge of a park. He collapsed onto a bench, staring out in the distance as he wondered what in his life had led him _here,_ to the point where he was running away from a rink and popping jumps he had been able to do fine a few weeks ago.

He couldn’t do it anymore, and it wasn’t just the jumps. The flip wasn’t his; it was Viktor’s, just like everything else he saw looking around. The flip was Viktor’s and tea was Viktor’s and dogs were Viktor’s and even Russia itself was Viktor’s. Everywhere he looked, all he saw was _Viktor Viktor Viktor,_ and he couldn’t escape it. It was like Matt all over again, but somehow worse.

No; not somehow. He _knew_ how it was worse. With Matt, he had been dumped, but with Viktor, Yuuri was responsible for the breakup. Everything he was feeling now was his own fault, and he just wanted to forget about all of it.

At the heart of it, even skating was Viktor’s. It had been Viktor who was Yuuri’s unattainable dream, and somehow…he had attained it and let it go.

_No_ , Yuuri scolded himself. _You didn’t let him go. You ended it to save yourself_.

He knew what he needed to do to help get a little ownership over his skating back: he needed to do something Viktor Nikiforov never could. He would need to find something of his own, find the one thing that Viktor hadn’t touched.

After dinner, Yuuri returned to the rink. It was nearly empty, save for Georgi finishing up a run through of his short program. There was plenty of space for Yuuri to practice – and plenty of silence.

He ran through his elements, starting with the step sequence he had flubbed earlier in the day. Then he practiced his spins, followed by single jumps. By the time he worked up to his triples, Georgi was walking out of the rink, waving to Yuuri and telling him to have a good night.

Triple jumps. Then triple combinations – then those triple loop combinations that he had been working on back in Detroit. First it was a waltz jump and a triple loop, just to get the feel for the rhythm he needed again. He then worked his way methodically through each jump, finally getting to the flip-loop and lutz-loop just as Yakov came out of his office.

Yuuri had forgotten he was there.

“Katsuki, are you done yet?”

“Uh…well, I had hoped to get a little more work done on these triple loop combos, but I can leave…”

It felt like Yakov’s dark eyes were boring into Yuuri’s soul. If that were true, then Yakov could see how badly Yuuri wanted to prove he could learn this, that Yuuri could learn something new _without Viktor_ that _Viktor hadn’t helped him with_ and that _Viktor had no hand in whatsoever_.

And perhaps “reading into his students’ souls” was a magical skill that Yakov had acquired throughout his years as a coach (or perhaps he was just _very done_ with twenty-somethings’ drama). “I will leave you my key. Shut the lights off and lock up, but I expect you here at six tomorrow to unlock the door for me.”

Eyes wide, Yuuri nodded furiously. “Yes, Coach! Thank you, sir.”

Yakov _harrumphed_ , turning sharply to leave Yuuri alone. Only once his back was turned did Yakov roll his eyes and mutter, “Lovesick idiots.” If only Yuuri had heard.

Yuuri went back to jumping, adding the loop onto all his triples again. He seemed to get the best flow out of his triple salchow-triple loop and triple flip-triple loop combinations, so he ran those over and over until his mind went numb.

Then he was skating – skating faster and faster as he went sal-loop then flip-loop then sal-loop then flip-loop over and over until his sal-loop was followed by a quad flip-triple loop.

And somehow he didn’t fall, nor pop the jump, nor even pause for a single beat between the two jumps.

It was only after he went to jump his next sal-loop combination that he realized what he had done.

_Oh my god_.

He had done a quad flip cleanly for the first time in days. Not only that, he had done a quad flip-triple loop combination. _Nobody_ did that, not even Viktor Nikiforov.

_Especially not Viktor Nikiforov_.

It was new and different. Most importantly, it was _his_.

The sal-loop was left by the wayside; he had found what he needed now.

He spent the next few hours drilling quad flip combinations with both the triple toeloop and triple loop, as well as considering what he should do with the knowledge of his new combination. The competition was in two days – would he show it to Yakov then? Could he keep it a secret until then, even?

Yuuri finally left the rink when it was nearing 10, and he didn’t notice that a man in a suit was still waiting just outside the rink. The late hour didn’t give him a lot of time to plan and sleep, but he would have to make it work.

[Lover]

As promised, Yuuri was opening the doors to the rink right at 6 the next morning. Yakov showed up at 6:05, looking as pleased as he ever did.

“Nice to see you follow through on _some_ things,” he grumbled. Then, to soothe his harsh words, he handed Yuuri a paper cup of steaming tea. “I want to see your free program run through at 7 before everyone else starts training. I’ll see your short program later in the day,” he stated, not giving Yuuri a second to reply before retreating into his office.

While Yakov completed his morning duties, Yuuri warmed up almost all the jumps for his programs, even the quad flip-triple toeloop to Yakov’s immense surprise. The only thing Yuuri left out was the flip-loop combination from the previous evening. He wasn’t ready to share that just yet, even if it were only him and Yakov.

As he ran through his program, he made note in his head of where he could move the combinations to gain more points. Despite the added quads in his new programs, he hardly felt winded by the second half. He had two combination in the first half, and he could definitely move another one of them to the second half.

Maybe both.

He finished up his program with a half-assed attempt at what was currently the final combination, a triple lutz-triple toeloop. He’d need to move that in his free program in a few days to make his plan work. If he _really_ wanted to shock everyone – especially Viktor – then…

He’d need to make sure that flip-loop was _perfect_.

“What happened to that last jump, Yuuri?” Yakov barked from the boards.

“I…lost concentration,” Yuuri said, which was true. He had been focused on something better than a measly lutz-toe.

“Make sure you don’t do that tomorrow. The rest of it looks…complete. There’s still room for improvement, but that will come as the season progresses.” From Yakov, that was stellar praise, worthy of a gold medal on any podium.

“Do you think I have a chance of…” Yuuri began to ask, but then he thought better of it. It was a question to which he already knew the answer would be “no.”

“Of what?” Yakov said. “Beating Viktor?” Yuuri was silent, but they both knew the answer to _that_ question. “Not yet. Not the way you skated today. But someday soon…” he suggested.

Not yet. Not yet was better than “no,” and he had promised himself that he would trust Yakov. If Yakov thought he was capable of beating Viktor, then…

Yuuri would need to make sure that “someday soon” was _very_ soon.

“You stand a chance of ranking first in the short program tomorrow. Although Viktor has the higher base value with his jumps and gets higher scores with those, you make up for it with your spins, step sequence, and by having your combination in the second half. I’d say you two are pretty evenly matched,” Yakov told him. “Yuri may surprise you, though.”

“I know. His programs have been incredible lately,” Yuuri agreed. “Both of theirs have been.” _Not that he’d been watching Viktor or anything_ , Yuuri lied to himself.

“As long as you stay _focused_ , you could win the short program,” Yakov told him again. Yuuri nodded firmly, more determined than he had ever been before any competition.

[Lover]

Yakov had been wrong. Despite Yuuri’s small advantages, Viktor’s jumps proved to be just a bit stronger. The standings at the end of the first day had Viktor in first with a score of 104.71 and Yuuri in second with 102.18. Each of them had wobbled on a landing, allowing Yuri’s high technical marks and lower program component scores to take a close third place with 101.95.

Yuuri didn’t sleep well that night. He had stayed at the rink later than everyone else, having managed to talk Yakov into lending him the key once again. He wanted to make sure that his free program for the next day conveyed _exactly_ what he wanted, both in its jumps and in its choreography.

He felt groggy the next morning, but as soon as the cool air of the rink hit his face, he was able to focus. He had something that he needed to prove, and he would do his best to prove it to _everyone_ , even himself.

The standings from yesterday determined the order they would skate in today, so Yuuri was due to skate second to last. He would take the ice just before Viktor did.

The competition was small; only 10 skaters were involved, so the first group of men flew by quickly. Soon, Yuuri, Viktor, and Yuri were on the ice for their warmup.

Yuuri wanted to keep the contents of his free program a surprise for just a little while longer. He warmed up his quads, just as everyone expected him to. Towards the end, though, and despite it not being in his official planned content _or_ his personal planned content, he made sure to practice a triple flip-triple loop. He wanted to make sure his timing between the jumps was still on today, and he hoped that nobody would pay any attention to that particular combination. Judging by Yakov’s side-eye at him from the boards, _someone_ had noticed, but as Yuuri stepped off the ice at the end of their six minutes, not a word was said between them.

Yuri skated third in the group, just before Yuuri was supposed to skate. He had a strong performance, his technical abilities again allowing him to post an impressive score of 180.67. It was higher than Yuuri had ever scored in a free program before, and he felt slightly daunted by the thought of not meeting up to everyone’s expectations.

For once, he let those feelings of insecurity fuel him.

Yuuri stood at the center of the rink, one arm crossed protectively over his chest and the other arm reaching down for the ice. The music started, a deep piano echoing around the rink, the sound ringing through his bones as he drew himself out of his starting pose.

He hadn’t felt like he knew what this program was about before. He hadn’t been able to identify _what_ about skating made him feel a certain way when he first skated the program, but now he knew.

Viktor made him feel something.

Yuri made him feel something.

Landing a jump made him feel something.

There were dozens of different moments over the summer that had made him _feel_ something, and now he was trying to paint them together into a work of art.

He prepared for his first jump. It would normally be the quad flip, but today-

A quad toeloop, landed flawlessly but without the combination that was originally planned for it. It always had been his strongest quad.

“He took out his quad flip?” Viktor asked. He shouldn’t be upset by it – the quad flip was a very difficult jump, after all, and this was just a summer competition – but…he couldn’t help but feel like Yuuri was trying to get rid of every part that had been _them_.

“I doubt it,” Yakov grunted. “Just wait.”

Next came his triple axel – by itself, instead of in combination - the quad salchow, and the triple lutz he had finished the program with yesterday. He was halfway through, and so far, not a single jump had been in combination.

“What’s he doing? Throwing the competition?” Yuri asked angrily.

“I don’t think he’s doing that at all,” Yakov said thoughtfully, recalling the flip-loop that he had performed at the last second in the warmup.

Then came the flip – but no, not just the quad flip, but not what Yakov had been expecting, either.

“When did he start doing _that_ in combination?” Yuri muttered as he watched the other Yuuri nail a quad flip-triple toeloop as the music built.

Nobody answered him.

Then came the triple axel-half loop-triple salchow that was supposed to be in the first half of the program, now getting a bonus added to its score from being moved to the second half. Yuuri refused to have a triple flip as the final part of that combination, even if it would have given him more points; the triple flip combination was _Viktor’s_ , and this program was Yuuri’s.

Yuuri’s spectacular step sequence followed, its difficulty matched by only Viktor’s, and then he began his transitions leading into the final jump.

“What’s he got left, a toeloop?” Yuri murmured to himself, but he wasn’t feeling confident in his prediction. This was _Yuuri_ , after all, who had apparently begun to model himself even more after Viktor: _surprise everyone with everything_.

Yuuri tried not to think as he went into the second quad flip of the program; he had only planned one in Yakov’s layout. He picked up speed, watching the faces staring at him from the boards and the line of judges waiting to score his last jumping pass.

He had nothing left to lose, so-

Yes. His toe pick pressed into the ice, sending him into yet another quad flip. He blade hit the ice for a split second before he was up again, rotating in a triple loop.

In the quiet of the music, everyone could clearly hear the bite of his toe pick into the ice, then the scrape of his blade turning for the loop. Finally, there it was: the satisfying hiss of his blade gliding along the ice on his landing, and louder than that, the gasps of the audience – rather, Yuuri could hear one gasp in particular.

He would have been able to pick out Viktor’s sharp intake of breath out of a crowd of thousands.

Quad flip. Triple loop.

He did it. He was a bit stiff on the landing, but he did it.

All that was left were a few more movements, a single spin, then a few seconds before he would have to face everyone.

Then it was over. He finished the program, arms spread wide over his head as if to say, “Here I am. This is me, and this is _mine_. _This_ is what makes me feel. _This_ is why Katsuki Yuuri exists _._ ”

The silence in the rink was broken by a whispered, “What the actual _fuck_ , piggy?” from Yuri, and then there was thundering applause. Yuuri finally noticed the flashes from the press sequestered to one side of the rink and the small audience that had been allowed in to see the competition – mostly younger skaters from the rink and their families, but an audience nonetheless.

Yuuri took his bows, saluting to the three sides of the rink where people had gathered, before skating quickly to the exit. He stepped off the ice just as Viktor was approaching to skate his own free program.

“That was beautiful, Yuuri,” Viktor offered with a bittersweet smile as he stepped out onto the ice. “There’s not much more you can do to up the base value on that program now,” he noted.

“Except perfect that quad lutz,” Yuri muttered off to the side, considering his own program layout. If he wanted _any_ chance of beating Yuuri in a clean free skate, then…

Despite it being a mock competition with their results having no real bearing for the season, Yakov had still managed to get official judges for the day. There was no kiss and cry, so Yuuri just waited between a stunned Yuri and a calculating Yakov.

“The scores for Katsuki Yuuri are 208.76. His total score is 310.94. He is currently in first place.”

Over 200 _and_ over 300? Yuuri hadn’t ever done that before – hell, he never in his wildest dreams imagined he _could_ do that. He had never scored as high as Yuri had in the free skate – and somehow he had _topped_ that? It seemed impossible.

But he had done it – by himself. It was his victory, even if there was still one skater left to go.

Viktor’s program started just as impressively as it always had. He had planned two combinations in the first half of the program.

As he watched Viktor move from the boards, Yuuri was struck by just how beautiful he was on the ice. It was the same thing that had drawn Yuuri to competitive skating and had drawn Yuuri to _Viktor_ , and it enthralled him once again.

Viktor’s first jumping pass was flawless, a triple axel-triple toe that could easily earn near-perfect marks. A spin followed, then his second jump.

There it was – or wasn’t: the jump had looked fine in the air, but Viktor stumbled coming out of his quad lutz, a jump he had so close to perfection but still gave him trouble every now and then. It was a fluke, but a costly one.

The second half of the program approached, and Viktor’s third combination of jumps was next. He moved from a spread eagle into his triple axel-half loop and…triple flip? “It’s normally a sal,” Yuuri murmured to himself.

“He’s trying to beat you, idiot. He messed up. He’d need to be _perfect_ to beat you with _that_ program you put out,” Yuri stated. He sounded frustrated – his senior debut had just gotten so much harder, and clearly, Yuri knew it.

The final two jumps, Viktor’s signature quad flip and a quad toeloop, were completed successfully, but Yuuri felt his hopes of winning die. Sure, Yuuri’s program had been clean, but Viktor had one more quad than he did, and he had changed his combination to increase the difficulty of his program at the last minute.

Viktor stepped off the ice, Yakov patting him on the back and muttering to him in Russian. Viktor nodded, seemingly only half listening to what his coach was telling him.

“Not bad for an old man,” Yuri grumbled appreciatively. Viktor ruffled his hair, earning a swat from the younger skater.

Viktor stood against the boards, waiting for the results to be announced. “Well done,” Yuuri said quietly to him.

“Thank you, Yuuri. You didn’t make this easy for me.”

“The scores, please,” the announcer said, drawing everyone’s attention towards the judges. “The scores for Viktor Nikiforov are…206.14.” Oh no – Yuuri had been _so close_ to beating him, and since Viktor had scored almost 105 points yesterday… “His total score is 310.85. He is currently in second place.”

Wait. _What?_

“Congrats, piggy,” Yurio said halfheartedly.

He had _won_?

It was what he had wanted to do, after all, but…

“Congratulations, Yuuri. I’m proud of you,” Viktor said glumly as he pulled his jacket on over his costume. Hearing that Viktor was proud of him after all this made Yuuri’s heart do somersaults. Somehow, Viktor still had that same pull over him…

“Thank you, Viktor,” Yuuri offered with a tentative smile that Viktor returned after a moment’s hesitation before he went to change.

“So, what?” Yuri grumbled, standing face to face with Yuuri. “You just said to yourself, ‘huh. I wonder what would happen if I just…did two quad flips and a combination that _nobody_ has ever landed before? No big deal, just moving some things around and upping my base value by nearly _seven points_?’”

“I said to myself that I wanted to do something that was _mine_ and that showed who _I_ really am, not what I try to be for others,” Yuuri countered.

Yuri quieted immediately. “Oh,” he finally said. “So that’s what the new ending pose was about. I thought it looked a little different.”

“Was it bad?” Yuuri asked nervously.

“If you ever repeat this, I’ll squash every last one of your skating records and land the first quad axel just so you can’t,” Yuri threatened darkly, “but I thought it was fantastic. I wish either of my programs were half that good.”

Yuuri blushed. “It’s all Yakov. He’s brilliant with the layout, and the choreographer he got-”

“Don’t do that icky humble thing with me, piggy! It’s all you. That program didn’t look half as good two days ago, never mind the fact that the layout is _completely different now_. That program was nothing special two days ago, but today…today, it was a _moment_ , and that’s what you need on the ice. You need people to remember you.” Yuri slumped against the wall. “I’d remember you if you skated that way in an actual competition. Hell, if I were Viktor today and I had to go _after_ you, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I don’t know how _he_ did it.”

“Well, he’s Viktor,” Yuuri said weakly.

Yuri scoffed. “Yeah, he’s a predictable old man.” Yuri picked up his jacket from the bench. “I’m going to get changed. I’ll see you at training tomorrow, piggy.”

Once Yuuri arrived back to his dormitory, he had two people he needed to call before the press could print anything about the competition. Conveniently, he was able to talk to both people at the same time.

“You did _what_?” Phichit shrieked. “You _beat_ Viktor _Nikiforov_? What’d he do, not land a single jump?”

“Not exactly,” Yuuri said hesitantly. “I, uh, guess I haven’t been updating you on my training well enough.”

“Yuuri’s been landing the quad flip,” Celestino offered.

“What? How do _you_ know that?” Yuuri squawked.

“Yakov has been kind enough to email me weekly updates. I’ll be _quite_ interested to hear his thoughts on this competition.”

“What do you _mean_ you’ve been landing the quad flip?” Phichit demanded. “How could you not tell your old pal _Phichit_?”

“It’s been busy, okay? I’m sorry.”

“How did Viktor do?” Celestino asked.

“Nearly perfect. He was first in the short program by almost 3 points, and his only mistake was a step out on his quad lutz.”

“Uh-huh. I’m good at math, Yuuri,” Celestino told him. “I’ve put together enough programs to know that a quad flip doesn’t equal Viktor Nikiforov-worthy scores. What else did you do?”

“Uh…two quad flips?” Yuuri told him nervously. Phichit shrieked on the other end of the line, but Celestino was quick to shush him. “Two quad flips, both in combination, and I moved all my combinations to the second half. And, uh, aquadfliptripleloopcombination,” he rushed out.

“Run that by me again?” Celestino said.

“I did a quad flip-triple loop combination as my last jump,” Yuuri said more clearly.

Instead of a shriek, the other end of the line went dead silent.

Finally, Celestino let out a whistle. “Impressive, Yuuri. No wonder why Viktor couldn’t keep up.”

“I only won by not even a tenth of a point,” Yuuri said. “He nearly beat me!”

“But he _didn’t_ ,” Celestino told him. “Yuuri, _you beat Viktor Nikiforov_ , the man with enough gold medals to build himself a gilded castle.” _More like a gilded cage_ , Yuuri thought as he remembered all his conversations with Viktor. “You need to start seeing your skating the same way _we_ do. How do you see Viktor Nikiforov’s skating?” he asked.

“He’s a god on the ice,” Yuuri answered immediately. “It’s incredibly breathtaking.”

“Right,” Phichit said, “and you were _better_ than that.”

Yuuri let out a sharp breath, the reality of what he had accomplished that day finally sinking in. It was easy enough to talk about his scores and his programs with Viktor, Yuri, and Yakov; he did that every day in training. Those discussions felt normal, but hearing his longtime coach and his best friend say it to him…

“Oh my god,” Yuuri breathed.

Phichit shrieked a little more before being shooed away by Celestino, who made Yuuri recount his program element by element. He seemed impressed, telling Yuuri, “ _If_ you return to me for coaching, I’ll be the luckiest coach alive.” Yuuri wasn’t so sure that was true, but he thanked Celestino anyway and hung up.

Yuuri fell asleep that night with a sense of wonder and a vague lack of purpose. For once, his goal wasn’t to meet Viktor on the podium or to stand above Viktor; he had just accomplished both. He would need to find a new goal for the season – but that could wait until tomorrow.

[Lover]

“Wonder where the old man is,” Yuri said the next morning.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asked.

Yuri scoffed. “Of _course_ Viktor,” he responded. “There aren’t any other ancient figure skaters that train at this rink.”

Yuuri was hesitant to call Viktor _ancient_ , but he didn’t argue. “Did he mention anything to you after the competition about skipping this morning’s training?” Yuuri asked worriedly.

“No, and I can’t imagine what he would be doing. He’s an old man with nothing better to do in his life than skate.”

Yuuri felt uncomfortable hearing the younger boy’s words. They were eerily close to the truth that Viktor had told him in confidence. Nobody knew the real Viktor; they just knew him on the ice.

Because he didn’t do anything else.

Makkachin was a “something else,” but she was a dog. As incredible and wonderful as she was for him, it was different than having true friends or…someone else. Someone like Yuuri had been to Viktor.

Why would Viktor risk that by cheating on Yuuri with some…some _himbo_?

The more Yuuri thought about it, the less sense it made.

“…ri? Yuuri? Hey, PIGGY!” Yuri called, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

“Huh?”

“What the hell were you just thinking about?”

“I…” How could Yuuri explain it? He _couldn’t_ , not without telling Yuri things that were too close to Viktor’s heart – and Yuuri’s. “I think…I think I made a big mistake. I think…”

“This about the old man?”

Yuri really was more insightful than people gave him credit for. “Viktor? Yes. I…”

“You are both such idiots,” Yuri griped. “I’ve had to sit and watch you both pout and moon behind each other’s backs for _nothing_?” Yuuri wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “Go talk to him, Piggy. You both need it. I’ll tell Yakov that you had something more important going on.”

It was all the prodding Yuuri needed. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted for the rink door, only pausing for a moment to turn around and smile at Yuri. “Thanks, Yuri,” he said. “I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.”

“I’m not your friend!” Yuri yelled at his back as he ran down the sidewalk.

He really needed to talk to Viktor – and, coming in at a close second, he really wanted to see his sweet Makkachin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter of the whole story! Or maybe the next one…I’m not sure. I think I mostly just had fun planning Yuuri and Viktor’s programs and fake scoring them to figure out exactly how close I could get their scores for maximum drama. What did you think?


	8. You Need to Calm Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angst concludes, and we find out about some shady stuff that's been happening all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter concludes the angst, so if you're been waiting to read to save your feels, you're safe to read now!  
> Side note: I believe figure skating has a one year international “ban” if you’re switching which country you represent, but for the purposes of Plot and dramatic moments, we’re going to pretend that this isn’t a rule. :)

Viktor was getting tired of seeing that gold ring sitting on his bedside table every day. He would wake up in the morning, see it gleaming there in the sun, and be reminded that Yuuri wasn’t wearing it; then he would go to practice, see Yuuri, and see Yuuri’s bare finger; _then_ he would get home, walk Makkachin, eat dinner, and fall into his empty bed in his too-quiet apartment and fall asleep staring at the ring – still not on Yuuri’s finger.

He was tired of it.

It was his fault that Yuuri had broken up with him – he should have stayed home or taken Yuuri with him on his sponsorship trip. He should have made sure that Yuuri _knew_ he was a priority. No, not just _a_ priority. _The_ priority (tied with Makkachin, of course).

He had to fix this.

Viktor had a meeting scheduled that morning with Ivan. Many of the situations Viktor found himself in that had strained his relationship were because of Ivan, and Viktor had been stupid to listen to him. He needed to make it clear that Yuuri was his first priority from here on out.

Viktor made sure to wear his best suit – his power suit, if you will. Whenever he wore it for press events, people always gave him a wide berth (so Viktor, unfortunately, was told to stop wearing it by _Ivan_ ). He needed Ivan to know that this was serious, that Viktor was in control, and that he _knew_ what he wanted and wouldn’t accept any arguments.

The meeting was arranged at Ivan’s office, which was located in a posh office building in the heart of Saint Petersburg. Viktor made sure to arrive exactly two minutes late to the meeting – close enough to being on time, but just late enough to annoy his agent.

“Viktor,” the man greeted him as he opened the mahogany door. Ivan looked less pleasant than usual, but that could have been Viktor’s own opinion of him slowly degrading.

“Ivan,” he replied tersely.

“Sit, please,” Ivan told him, gesturing to the leather chair across from his desk.

“I’d rather stand, if it’s all the same to you. This won’t take long,” Viktor said.

“What is this about?” Ivan asked as he sat behind the desk, folding his hands across the top.

“Things are going to change from here on out,” Viktor declared. “Less press – _significantly_ less press. I want to limit any unnecessary travel, including anything for frivolous photo shoots or ads or commercials. I don’t need the money, and I don’t need the publicity.”

Ivan’s brows knitted together. “This doesn’t sound like you, Viktor.”

“This sounds _exactly_ like me,” Viktor countered. “I want more time for myself and my private life and less time in the public eye.”

“That’s hardly conducive to your skating career, Viktor.” Ivan tutted. “What has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me is _Yuuri,_ ” Viktor said fiercely. “I have finally found something I want to hold onto in my life, and I’m not going to risk it again.”

“Now, that doesn’t sound like you at _all_ , Viktor. You’re getting distracted again,” Ivan said disapprovingly. “Or is this about your image? Are you trying to quell those playboy rumors by pretending to get engaged and settle down? We can hire someone again-”

“Hire someone?” Viktor scoffed. “What kind of person do you think I am? Wait. _Again_?”

“It’s important that we keep your image impeccable. We had to ensure that you were dating the appropriate people. I’m sure you understand; someone of your caliber should always be dating someone of a similar caliber, which is why we’ve always hired models or sports stars or well-educated-”

“You _hired_ all the people in my last relationships? Was _that_ why they stopped being interested so quickly?” Viktor asked, horrified.

“Of course we did,” Ivan said dismissively. “It’s all for your image, Viktor. It’s the same reason I sent my assistant to warn off that Katsuki boy you were with – we couldn’t allow your reputation to be tarnished by someone as unfit for you as him. Your image is what drives your support: if people stopped supporting you, they would stop supporting the National Team as a whole. _Then_ what would happen to figure skating in Russia?”

“I’m not some kind of figurehead!” Viktor protested. “I’m a _person_ , and I happen to skate. I’m a person who wants to _live his life_ -”

“Viktor, you need to see reason here.” The man stood, pulling his suit jacket down in a way that Viktor was sure was supposed to intimidate him, and if he were being honest, it probably would have cowed him only six months ago. Even _one_ month ago. But now…

“No,” Viktor said more firmly, more coldly, than he had ever said a single word in his entire life. “ _You_ do. And you need to take _several_ seats.” He watched as his agent, the man he used to trust with every part of his image, scowl plastered on his mouth, _hrmph_ ed and sat back into his leather armchair. “This is _my_ life. You are lucky that I am _allowing_ skating to be a part of it at this point. I don’t need you or any national backing anymore, financially or otherwise.”

“You do if you want to compete internationally,” Ivan said, a smug smile growing. “You may be able to qualify for the Grand Prix series on your own, but you need the Federation’s support if you want to compete at a European or World Championships ever again. You know how much sway I hold with them. One little call…” he threatened.

“Not really,” Viktor returned, crossing his arms over his chest, conveniently displaying his gold engagement ring and all its implications. “I could very quickly and easily get _Japanese_ citizenship. I imagine their skating federation would be quite thrilled to have me represent them at the World Championships next year, don’t you? I think Japan going 1-2 on the men’s podium is a nice idea.”

Viktor was very amused by the abrupt change in the other man’s expression. He wished he had a video camera or perhaps a timer – something so that he could track how quickly his face went from triumphant and believing he had the upper hand to a sickly pale expression of fear. He was sure it must have broken some kind of record.

Viktor, having made his point, saw no reason to stay in Ivan’s horrible presence any longer. He smoothed the front of his suit jacket and turned to leave.

“By the way, Ivan?” he said, pausing with one hand on the door. Viktor looked over his shoulder, smirking with satisfaction. “If you hadn’t figured it out already, you’re fired.”

He opened the door, stepped out, and restrained himself from slamming it shut. Instead, he closed the door with nary a sound, which allowed him the pleasure of hearing Ivan’s echoing screams of frustration.

Now, he needed to find his Yuuri and tell him the good news.

[Lover]

Yuuri found himself in front of Viktor’s door breathing heavily from his sprint to the apartment complex. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, hands resting on his knees as his chest heaved. He stood up straight, steeling himself and preparing himself for the confrontation that he would have as soon as he knocked. He took a deep breath, raising his hand to the white door, then-

“Yuuri?” a familiar voice said from behind him.

Yuuri had been prepared to find Viktor _in_ his apartment. All the scenarios he had run in his head started with _him_ talking to a surprised Viktor, not the other way around.

He turned slowly, his hands dropping to his side. “Viktor,” he said nervously when he saw him. “You…look nice,” he said with some confusion, although it was most definitely the truth (if a bit of an understatement). Viktor in a well-tailored suit was certainly a sight to behold.

“I had a meeting,” Viktor explained. “A very important meeting that went both horribly worse and a thousand times better than I ever expected it to.” Viktor stepped around him, taking out his key to unlock the apartment. “Will you come in?” he asked, gesturing to the door uncertainly.

Viktor made tea for them both in silence – _and he still gets it perfect_ , Yuuri mused as he accepted the mug. They sat down on the couch where they had cuddled so many times, limbs tangled with each other’s and Makkachin’s warm mass of curls preventing them from moving. Now, Makkachin was laying in her bed across the room, and Viktor and Yuuri were tucked in opposite sides of the small couch. The eight inches of empty space between their bodies suddenly felt like a chasm that they wouldn’t be able to jump.

They sipped their drinks quietly for a few minutes, the only other sound in the room being Makkachin’s occasional huff of breath. Eventually, Yuuri knew he needed to start the conversation.

“I wanted to apologize,” Yuuri said in a rush. If he didn’t say it now, he’d lose his nerve and run back to the rink – or back to Detroit. “I…I’m sorry, Viktor. I should have let you explain. I should have _listened_ to you. It’s not like you to…well…anyways, Yuri helped me realize that I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

Viktor’s face softened. “Oh, Yuuri…Yuuri, you have nothing to be sorry for. You wanted to protect yourself, and I can’t blame you for that one bit. I am absolutely ashamed of myself. I should have been able to protect you better so you wouldn’t have been attacked, and I should have known that Ivan kept setting me up, and-”

“Whoa, hold on,” Yuuri said, raising his hands to get Viktor to pause for just a moment. He was a bit surprised that Viktor had found out about the attack, but someone at the rink must have told him. (Yuuri’s bet was on little Yuri.) “There wasn’t _anything_ you could have done to protect me, Viktor. It’s not your fault that some people in the world are crazy. There’s crazy skating fans everywhere – I could have been attacked at a competition or back in Detroit.”

“I know, but it was _here_ , and they were _my_ so-called fans, and if-”

“Viktor, I think we’re a little too late for ‘what ifs.’ We can only deal with what we have right now and hopefully make it better.” Yuuri sighed. “We need to talk.”

“We do,” Viktor agreed. They dropped into an uncomfortable silence, neither of them brave enough to make the first move or even look at each other. Eventually, Viktor asked, “What…what did I do wrong?” His voice was strained and sounded very much like the small, scared junior skater he still felt like some days.

“What?” Yuuri was confused.

“I…must have done something. I would really appreciate it if you would tell me what it was so I can make it up to you and so I can… _not_ …do it again, whatever it was.”

Yuuri felt sick. This was _not_ a side of Viktor he had ever seen before. If anything, it hardly even seemed like Viktor at all. “Viktor, I…I don’t think you _did_ anything. At least, not anymore. I think I just misunderstood what was happening. I’m not sure _how_ I did, but I must have, and…if you’d be willing, I hoped you might…explain what was going on?”

It felt like they were performing the most delicate of skating programs, where if either of them shifted their weight slightly in any direction, they would fall, and it would all be over.

“I would love to explain whatever you want, Yuuri,” Viktor told him. _I just want you back_ , he didn’t say. “What is it you would like to know about?”

“I…” Yuuri was scared. He was certain he had misunderstood the situation now, but would Viktor judge him anyway for even _thinking_ something like this? He swallowed hard, then let the words come out. “I thought you were cheating on me. I saw you with someone outside the rink the day that I…broke up with you.” Yuuri felt miserable just admitting to what he had thought. It _couldn’t_ be right. It just didn’t fit with who Viktor was.

Viktor took a deep breath, then said, “Oh. So _that’s_ what happened. I think an explanation would be…very helpful in this case,” he told Yuuri.

“I want to hear all of it. I’ll listen to everything you want to tell me,” Yuuri promised him. “I…I really screwed up, Viktor, and I want to figure this out.”

Viktor nodded. “Okay. I guess…I’m not sure what’s the best place to start. The man you saw was a _fan_ of mine.” Yuuri could hear the odd stress on the word as Viktor spoke, and he raised an eyebrow dubiously. “My fans…I’ve had problems with them before. It started very early in my senior career, back when my hair was long. There were…people would try to touch it, try to pull on it. It eventually got to be too much for me,” Viktor admitted. “I cut my hair. Yakov nearly had a heart attack when he saw me the next day, but when he asked why and I didn’t answer, he understood. At least, he hired me a bodyguard for me, so I _think_ he understood,” he said with a frown. “After a few years, we thought things had settled out, and, for the most part, they had. I was getting less attention with my short hair, so we decided the bodyguard was no longer necessary.”

Viktor looked up at Yuuri, trying to gauge his reaction. “There’s been two fans that have…come on too strong in the last few months. One was the day you broke up with me, and the second was just a few days after that. Two different people that I let get the best of me,” Viktor said shamefully. “The first one…he caught me by surprise. It had been so long since something like that had happened to me that I…he shoved me up against the wall, and he tried to kiss me. I was…stunned, I suppose. It took me a minute to realize what was happening, and then I pushed him off and ran into the rink. I had them lock the doors behind me, and he…made a nuisance of himself. I went to training, and the rink staff called the police.”

“Oh my god. Viktor, are you okay?” Yuuri asked, concern painted clearly across his face.

Viktor smiled wanly. “Nothing that I haven’t experienced before, Yuuri. I’m sorry you had to see it.” He sighed. “I had wanted to talk to you a few days after you- after _we_ broke up, but I didn’t know if you would even _want_ to talk to me, and if there was a chance we could get back together, I…well, once Yuri told me what had happened to you, I couldn’t risk you getting hurt again.” Viktor sighed, leaning back into the overstuffed couch cushions. “I couldn’t risk that anyway, which is why I…”

“Why you what, Viktor?” Yuuri prompted.

“I…might have hired some security for the rink?”

“Is that a question or a fact?” Yuuri asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

“A fact. I hired security for the rink.”

“So that _wasn’t_ Yakov’s doing?”

“No. That was all me.”

“Viktor, that must have cost a fortune!” Yuuri protested.

Viktor scratched the back of his neck nervously. “It wasn’t that bad. I have the money, and besides…I’d give everything I have to know that you’re safe.”

“Viktor…”

“You’re worth it, Yuuri. I should have told you that earlier. I should have told you that _over and over,_ but I’m not used to being…well, having a relationship like this.”

“I’m not either,” Yuuri admitted. “My only relationship was…disastrous, I suppose. You know how that ended. And after that, I was…afraid,” he told Viktor. “You’re much too good for me.” Viktor was about to protest, but Yuuri pressed on. “Being with you never even occurred to me in my wildest dreams, and once I had you…it never made sense to me, _really_ made sense to me, why you would stay. Then Georgi and Mila told me about your past relationships and how they were all very short-lived, and I…well, I resigned myself to having a very brief relationship with you.”

“Then why didn’t you break it off once you heard that if you thought ending it was an eventuality?”

“Because any time with you was worth any heartbreak I might experience. I _still_ believe that, even having gone through everything we did. So between what they had told me, and then what Phichit had told me about the cheating rumors-”

“What cheating rumors?”

“Phichit called me while you were away. Some of our fans had posted photos of you getting a little cozy with someone, but it was a woman. I didn’t really believe it at the time, and I obviously don’t believe any of it now, but… Well, and then there was the man on the street that told me that I should keep my distance from you…”

“Ivan,” Viktor practically growled, sending chills down Yuuri’s spine.

“What?”

“I met with him this morning. He said that he sent someone to _warn_ you. That must have been what he meant. And then that fan was the breaking point, I assume?”

Yuuri sighed. “I’m sorry, Viktor. I should have let you explain. I should have _known_ you wouldn’t do anything like that. I should have…ugh!”

“Yuuri, love, given all the things you had heard about me and everything you went through with your ex, I can’t blame you for protecting yourself from getting hurt again. I would have done the same.” Yuuri grimaced.

“I need to tell you about the meeting I had today,” Viktor said. Yuuri nodded, waiting for Viktor to go on. “It seems that Ivan has been a bit more… _controlling_ …than I had known. I had hired him to take care of the business side of skating for me, but it seems that he took it upon himself to take care of the _personal_ side of my life as well.”

Yuuri shivered, not liking Viktor’s tone at all. “What did he do, Viktor?”

“It turns out that _every_ _single_ _one_ of my past relationships has been paid. At least that explains why I didn’t fit well with any of them,” Viktor said with a bitter laugh.

“Viktor…”

“He tried to tell me that you weren’t good for my ‘image,’ as if I even need to worry about that. He tried to threaten to pull my funding and my support from the Federation, but I set him straight _very_ quickly on that account.”

“What’d you tell him?” Yuuri asked curiously.

“I just reminded him that I could very quickly and very _easily_ become a Japanese citizen. Do you think the JSF would mind a new skater for their team?” Viktor asked innocently.

Yuuri laughed, imagining the face Ivan must have made. “Oh, _very_ easily. I think they would be thrilled to have you.” Yuuri reached a tentative hand across the distance between them, the eight-inch chasm no longer feeling insurmountable if they _both_ tried to jump to each other. Viktor eagerly met Yuuri’s hand in the middle, their fingers entwining for the first time in too long. “As would I. We’re just a pair of idiots, aren’t we?” Yuuri said with a weak chuckle.

“We are,” Viktor agreed, smiling tiredly. “Oh, Yuuri…”

And then it felt like coming home: Viktor crossed the space between them, his arms wrapping around Yuuri’s back, one hand holding his head so, _so_ gently as if Viktor were holding something fragile – and maybe to him, he was.

“я тебя люблю. _I love you_ , Yuuri,” Viktor said reverently. “I should have made sure that you knew that.”

“I love you, too, Viktor,” Yuuri murmured into his shoulder. He finally felt truly safe for the first time since Viktor had left for his press shoot, and he didn’t want that feeling to ever go away.

Unfortunately, their solitude was disturbed by Viktor’s phone ringing. Without ending their embrace, Viktor reached one hand into his pocket and fished out his phone. He glanced quickly at the screen and rolled his eyes once before answering.

“Да, Yuri?”

“Are you coming to practice at _all_ today?” Yuuri could hear the younger Yuri grumble through the phone.

“No,” they said in unison. Yuuri grinned as Viktor chuckled.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Yuri,” Viktor said, ending the call before Yuri could say anything further or protest.

They held each other for what felt like minutes but might have been hours – neither of them was paying attention to the clock, and they were in no hurry to pull away after all they had been through.

They settled in for a quiet day together, pretending that the world outside didn’t exist and that Yuuri didn’t have to leave in a few days, just simply basking in each other’s presence.

There was one small interruption to their day, though: it was not lengthy or unpleasant. It simply involved Viktor reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring. He didn’t get down on one knee or say any words; he just held it up to Yuuri, an unspoken question running between them.

And Yuuri said “yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poll: which character do we hate more, Matt or Ivan?


	9. Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer comes to an end, and Yuuri should go back to Detroit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it seems that everyone hated Ivan and Matt pretty equally (or maybe Ivan just a BIT more). They're both pretty terrible characters!

It was around 9am the next morning, and the rink was full of people. Viktor was one of them, and for the first time in weeks, Yuuri was elated to be in his presence. Every time he skated past him, it felt like they both lit up.

“Katsuki, my office!” Yakov barked from the side of the rink.

Casting a nervous glance towards Viktor, Yuuri obediently skated to the exit and put on his skate guards before following Yakov into his glass-walled office.

“Sit,” he ordered, indicating the chair across from his desk. Yuuri sat down with a gentle _thud_ , his anxiety starting to get the best of him. Was he in trouble or something? Was it about Viktor and what he had said to Ivan about the Federation?

“Impressive, Katsuki,” Yakov told him, which was nowhere on the list of things Yuuri expected to hear. “With the free skate you did yesterday, you upped your base value more than 12 points from your highest valued program last season.”

“I…I did?” Yuuri really hadn’t thought about it – he just wanted to skate for himself (and maybe to beat Viktor just to prove he could). He didn’t think about how he had added two additional quads and a triple loop combination in just one year, but looking back… “Uh, wow,” he said, vaguely in awe of his own achievement.

What was Yakov getting at here?

“You upped your base value by 12 points here in three months – you added two more quads to your program, stabilized your quad salchow, and perfected a combination I’ve never seen anyone pull off in a competition before. You had five months between your last competition and when you came here. What were you wasting that time on?”

Yuuri felt a little blindsided by the question. “I wouldn’t say I was wasting-”

“Well, then, why couldn’t you pull off what you did here with your coach back in Detroit?” he said impatiently. “What’s so different here? It’s _certainly_ not me, because I feel like I’ve hardly done anything with you!”

Yuuri finally began to understand where some of Yakov’s gruffness came from – he was frustrated. Confused, even. Yuuri had attended every coaching session with Yakov, always doing as he ordered and taking his criticisms with grace, but all his major improvements – everything but stabilizing the quad sal and the introduction to the quad flip – were done in Yuuri’s private time. The quad flip-triple loop had been planned without _any_ of Yakov’s input.

“It’s…it’s so safe there,” Yuuri said quietly. Yakov leaned his elbows onto the desk, his eyes squinting in confusion. “It’s safe there. If I land a jump, I get…not praised, but we’re all happy. If I don’t land a jump, it’s okay. It feels like it wasn’t expected of me anyway. And here…”

“Nobody expected you to land two quad flips, let alone a flip-loop.”

“Exactly. That’s the thing; here, simply landing a jump is _normal_. Missing a jump once is a fluke, and missing a jump over and over says that something isn’t working. I should have known there was something off with my salchow back in Detroit,” Yuuri murmured to himself.

“Then what makes it so special being _here_?” Yakov questioned in a surprisingly gentle tone.

“I’ve always looked up to Viktor. I’ve always thought that I wanted to be on the podium with him one day,” Yuuri said by way of explanation. “I never once considered being on the podium _above_ him.” Yuuri sighed. “I’m…I’m training with the man who lives to surprise people, and I surprised _him_. _That_ pleased me more than anything else and made me want to do…well, just _more_.”

Yakov eyed Yuuri carefully. “It’s not the rink, then. It’s not me or the other coaches or even being in a facility training with skaters who should be skating circles around you, judging by last year’s season’s bests. It’s none of that. It’s _him_? It’s _Vitya_?” Yakov clarified.

Yuuri nodded, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “It’s stupid.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s stupid or not,” Yakov said with a laugh. “The only thing that matters is that it somehow _works_ for you in a way that training with Celestino didn’t. So now the real question: what will you do this season?”

“I’ll…” Yuuri immediately began to answer, but then he realized he didn’t _have_ an answer. He hadn’t thought about how his training in Russia was coming to an end or how he’d soon have to leave Yakov – and Yuri and Makkachin and _Victor_.

_Oh god they’re engaged._

“I have no idea what to do,” Yuuri said, tears prickling at his eyes. “I _should_ go back to Detroit, but I don’t know if I can keep skating at this level back there.” _I don’t know if I can skate like this without Viktor beside me_.

“Why should you go back?” Yakov countered.

“Because…” And Yuuri realized he didn’t _have_ a good reason. Sure, he missed Phichit and his hamsters, and he definitely missed seeing Celestino…but that all paled in comparison with how badly he would miss Viktor, combined with how much better his training was going here. “Because I’m just here for the summer training program,” Yuuri finally said. That was the only reason he had for needing to leave: because his contract was coming to an end.

“And if I offered you a chance to stay training here this season? Training here _permanently_?” Yakov said carefully.

“Then I’d-” _jump for joy and set a wedding date_ , Yuuri didn’t say. Instead, he said, “go call Celestino and make some calls to the JSF to get permission to train here.”

“Good,” Yakov grunted, retrieving a paper from a drawer and presenting it to Yuuri.

It was a coaching contract: a subsidized rate in exchange for some assistant coaching around the rink, a requirement for a complete training schedule to be strictly adhered to, and a caveat for a small percentage of his winnings to be distributed to the coaches at the rink. It was a contract that would let him stay in Russia with _Viktor_.

“Why are you doing this?” Yuuri finally asked.

“You mean _besides_ the fact that you outscored the top skater in the world yesterday? Well, _former_ top skater now, I suppose,” he grumbled. Yuuri was silent. “You really don’t think much of yourself, do you, Katsuki? You beat both of my top skaters. For that alone I would offer to keep you training here. Besides that…” Yakov paused, considering whether he really needed to tell Yuuri the next reason. “If I didn’t ask you to stay and you went back to Detroit, do you _really_ think Viktor wouldn’t follow? That if anyone tried to stop him, he wouldn’t make good on his threats to elope and apply for Japanese citizenship so the two of you could go 1-2 on the podium at the World Championships?”

Judging by the shocked look on Yuuri’s face, the last part was _not_ something he had heard before. “Vitya is very much like his poodle. He will follow the hand that feeds him anywhere – even if _anywhere_ is to a tiny apartment in Detroit. He’s utterly smitten with you, Katsuki. I can’t go losing the _second_ -best skater in the world from my rink as well as the first.”

Yakov stood from his desk, preventing Yuuri from saying anything further on the topic. “Now, I do believe you have some phone calls to make, and then you should be practicing your new free skate layout.”

Yuuri grinned. “Yes, Coach Feltsman!” he replied, rising from his seat and racing out the office door. He paused long enough to pull his skate guards off and toss them to the side before racing across the rink and jumping into Viktor’s arms.

The phone calls could wait a few more minutes.

[Lover]

Being with Matt…everything was very intense. It was flashy and fast and felt like fire, burning hot and quickly.

And therein was the problem. It burned too hot and too quickly, and then it was gone. All that was left was darkness. It was gone in a fire that left Yuuri with burns, and those took time to heal.

But Viktor…being with Viktor felt like daylight. It was warm and sunny and peaceful. Seeing Viktor felt like seeing the sun – it always felt like the start of a new day or a summer afternoon or even the first sign of spring. It always felt fresh and new and, in some ways, eternal: like he didn’t need to keep feeding the sun to keep it alive in the way Yuuri had needed to fuel the bonfire that was his last relationship, until he fed it too much gasoline all at once and it raged out of control.

Being with Viktor felt safe in the most adventurous of ways, and there was never any fear. There was anxiety, certainly, because Yuuri was _Yuuri_ , but never fear.

Most of all, being with Viktor felt like coming home.

[Lover]

They had been living in Viktor’s – _their_ – apartment together for nearly two months. When Yuuri had initially asked Viktor and Yuri for help securing permanent housing once he had officially signed his contract, Yuri had scoffed, and Viktor had stared at Yuuri with horror.

“What do you mean?” Viktor asked. “Aren’t we…”

Yuuri was very confused. “What?”

“You idiot,” Yuri grumbled. “You’re practically married! Where do you _think_ you’re going to live?”

“But I can’t just…”

“Why not?” Viktor asked, his face changing from horror into a state of sadness. “Don’t you want to live with me and Makka? Or is it Makka? Is it too hard after-”

“No, no!” Yuuri quickly protested. “I love Makka! She’s incredible, and so are you, of course. It’s just that…”

“This idiot hates making a nuisance of himself, but he’s sometimes too stupid to realize that people actually _care about him_ and _enjoy being around him_ ,” Yuri stated bluntly.

“Huh?” Yuuri blinked owlishly at the smaller boy in front of him. “You…”

“I never said _I_ personally enjoy being around you,” Yuri quickly backtracked, “just that _some_ people do. Can’t imagine why,” he grumbled. “Now, will you tell the old man you’ll move in with him so he can stop his damn _pouting_ already?”

And how could Yuuri say no to _that_?

[Lover]

Phichit had sent a few boxes containing the rest of Yuuri’s things from Detroit, and they were finally starting to find their place around the apartment. Yuuri’s favorite poodle-print tea mug was nestled in with Viktor’s collection. Yuuri’s running shoes had a place by the door right next to Viktor’s. Yuuri’s half of the bed gained a bedside table for his glasses, and a picture of Vicchan was placed lovingly on top. Everywhere you looked, there were starting to be touches of Yuuri.

There were also touches of _Yuuri and Viktor_ beginning to permeate the apartment: a new duvet they had picked out together. Pictures of the two of them and Makkachin were hung on the living room wall, some professional photos from a sponsorship deal they had signed together and some candid photos that Yuri had grudgingly taken. Their nicer clothes were hung in the same closet, but their training gear was beginning to get mixed together in its drawers (whether on purpose or accidentally remained to be seen; Yuuri _did_ notice that Viktor was particularly happy to see him in Team Russia gear, though…).

The apartment was starting to feel more like _their_ home, but it didn’t matter. Yuuri already felt at home because he was with Viktor.

[Lover]

It happened gradually. It was so easy to get used to being with Viktor that some days, it felt like this had been Yuuri’s life forever. Other days, he was reminded of how lucky he was and how precious his time with Viktor was.

Yuuri woke before Viktor one morning. Although Viktor was usually up before the sun, neither of them had sent an alarm on their day off. Instead, Yuuri had been awoken by the daylight streaming through the window, casting a warm sunny glow around Viktor’s face.

 _Beautiful_ , he thought. _I’m so lucky to have him. I wouldn’t trade this for the world – because I already_ have _the world with him._

Makkachin whined, sensing that one of her dads had woken up. Yuuri could feel her tail wagging, the _pat-pat-pat_ of it hitting the bed. “In a minute, Makka,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb Viktor.

He didn’t want to get up; he just wanted to sit there, looking at the man he loved above everything else (maybe even Makka, but it was too close to call). They had been through so much, much more than an average couple should need to experience in their first few months together, and now these moments felt like a well-deserved respite from the outside world.

Makkachin shuffled on the bed, needing to go out for her morning walk. Yuuri reached down to pat her head briefly before peeling the covers back. Just before getting out of bed, he placed a kiss on Viktor’s forehead.

Things were better now. Together, they had redefined their skating and their lives. For once, both of their futures looked bright.


	10. Epilogue: Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Viktor and Yuuri's season beyond the summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 really goes with the Epilogue, so you get both chapters at once! The version of Lover for this chapter is the First Dance Remix.

The Grand Prix season was kind to both Yuuri and Viktor (and Yuri, but he wouldn’t have allowed any differently). Viktor won gold at Skate America, and Yuuri won gold in China. Since it was nearest to their training rink, Yuuri and Viktor had both been assigned to the Rostelecom Cup in early November. (Yuri was jealous of their assignments in his home country, having been assigned to compete in America and Japan, but he really couldn’t complain with his silver and gold medals).

Yuuri and Viktor returned to Saint Petersburg victorious, with Viktor lauding Yuuri’s achievements to anyone who would listen. He refused to kiss Yuuri’s medal, though – “It’s only a silver medal, Yuuri. You can do better,” he told his partner as he clung to his own gold medal.

“I only need to do two points better next time, Viktor. Don’t hold onto that medal _too_ tightly,” Yuuri teased him.

Their wedding was on a frigid weekend in December between the Grand Prix Final and both Russian and Japanese Nationals. Viktor never told Yuuri that they could only get married after Yuuri won gold, but even if he had, they’d be getting married just the same: Yuuri had made good on his promise to Viktor, winning the Grand Prix final by six points and beating both Viktor and Yuri (who was disappointed with bronze but secretly pleased that it was _Yuuri_ who had won gold and not Viktor). He had performed a flawless free skate including two quad flips and all of his combinations in the second half – the same layout he had done at the summer competition, with a small substitution of his triple salchow for a triple flip to earn a few extra points (“Because why not?” as Viktor had said, and Yuuri whole-heartedly agreed).

The wedding was small. Yuuri’s family had been flown in from Japan, as well as Celestino and Phichit (“and the hamsters came, too! They wanted to see their Uncle Yuuri get hitched!”). Viktor didn’t have family around, but there were enough skaters and coaches from the rink in Saint Petersburg and around the world that the room was filled to the brim with people and love, all illuminated by thousands of twinkling Christmas lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?”

Viktor was waiting, watching with tears in his eyes as Makkachin trotted down the aisle with her flower crown and Yuuri was led down to the altar by both of his parents.

For Yuuri, the ceremony flew by in a blur. He couldn’t tell you anything the officiant had said – his eyes were focused solely on Viktor’s, and neither of them could be happier.

When Viktor started saying his vows, Yuuri hung onto his every word. “Yuuri, my love, I am so, _so_ lucky to have you in my life. I am looking forward to our new adventures together, and hopefully many poodle children. Makkachin needs some siblings.” Their gathered family and friends all laughed. “I promise to always support you and to always stay close by your side.” He rubbed the backs of Yuuri’s hands gently with his thumbs. “And I promise to always love you, even if my displays of affection are a little…overdramatic at times.” They grinned, thinking of Viktor’s threat to become a Japanese citizen (and how he still hadn’t ruled it out). “But that’s part of why you love me – or at least I hope so, because it’s a bit too late to change your mind now.” Yuuri’s teary-eyed chuckle was nothing compared to Phichit’s loud bark of laughter. “Honestly, though…Yuuri, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Better than any of my medals or my titles; even better than skating itself.”

“Better than Makkachin?” Yuuri asked cheekily.

“Don’t push it,” Viktor teased him. “You can be tied with Makkachin. After all we’ve been though…” he said more seriously, “Yuuri, I would be nothing without you. You bring the light into my life and make each day brighter than the last. Yuuri, my little солнышко, I am so honored to get to call you my husband. I promise to be true to you all the days that I am lucky enough to be alive, and even after that, wherever we may go.”

The reception was relatively tame, all things considered. Well, that is, if you consider one of the best men breaking out a pole and challenging one of the grooms to a dance-off being _tame_.

(Somehow, they did.)

“Are there _any_ benefits to having Christophe as a friend?” Yuuri asked dubiously, eyeing the shirtless man hanging from the pole in front of them.

Viktor, struggling to maintain a straight face, shrugged. “Well, I guess his flag is a big plus.”

It took Yuuri a few seconds to register what his husband – his _husband_ – had said, but when he did, it was with a groan and a hand flashing out to whack his _husband_ in the chest. His _husband_ had clearly had too much to drink.

[Lover]

The evening after the wedding found Yuuri and Viktor laying cozily in each other’s arms. An interruption came in the form of Yuuri’s phone ringing with a name he had never expected to see again (and he _really_ should have blocked him or, at the very least, deleted him from his phone).

“Who is it?” Viktor asked, noticing that Yuuri wasn’t answering the call. When Yuuri turned the phone screen towards Viktor, he immediately reached out a hand. “Let me answer it.”

“ _What_?” Yuuri nearly squawked.

“ _Please_?” Viktor pleaded, giving his best impression of Makkachin and her puppy eyes until Yuuri relented. Viktor took a deep breath before lifting the phone to his ear. “Ah, Matthew Greyson: my arch nemesis.”

Yuuri lost it. He doubled over with laughter in their bed, causing Makkachin to look up at him with concern. “Don’t worry, Makka-girl. It’s just your daddy being overdramatic, just as he promised.”

_Overdramatic and true. How very accurate he was._

“It doesn’t matter who this is,” Viktor said to Matt. After a moment, he said, “Yes, he’s right here. Why should I let you talk to him?...uh-huh. Sure. I’ll let you _try_. Be on your best behavior. Remember: arch nemesis right here, and I’ve always wanted to see how I would do in a fight.”

“Viktor, _no_ ,” Yuuri said with a roll of his eyes. “Just give me the phone.” Now in possession of his cell phone again, he raised it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Yuuri! How are you?” said a voice Yuuri had hoped he wouldn’t hear again.

“I’m ecstatic,” Yuuri answered honestly, sliding his free hand into Viktor’s and giving it a squeeze. “What can I do for you?”

“Yuuri, I’ve been thinking,” Matt began. _So have I_ , Yuuri was tempted to say, but he let him continue. “You changed last year. You weren’t the guy I thought you were, but it seems like you’re back to being yourself again.”

 _Oh, this was going to be_ good, Yuuri thought, pressing a button on his phone.

“…I just really think it could work this time,” Matt finished, now on speakerphone so that Viktor could hear. Makkachin perked up at the strange voice, giving a tiny growl. _Good girl_ , both Yuuri and Viktor thought. “So, what do you say, Yuuri? Would you like to give it a try?”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow towards Viktor, grinning mischievously. “Oh, Matt, that sounds wonderful…” Yuuri teased.

“Great! When would you like to-”

“…but you seem to have caught me at a bad time,” Yuuri went on as if he hadn’t interrupted.

“Oh. Well, I’m flexible. I can call back later if you’d like? When’s a better time?” Matt asked excitedly.

“Well you see, the thing is, I think the rest of forever will be a bit busy for me,” Yuuri said.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I had this thing today, and I made a pretty big commitment.”

“Like a new job?” Matt asked.

“I mean, I suppose you could put it that way. The title of ‘husband’ _does_ come with some pretty big responsibilities.” Viktor was nearly choking with laughter at this point.

“ _Husband_?”

“Yes, _husband_ ,” Yuuri confirmed. “We got married today, actually. We thought it would be a good time, what with the Grand Prix Final being over now. Now my medal matches my wedding ring,” Yuuri said with a grin, staring fondly at the golden band on his finger.

“That’s…very surprising. I didn’t know you were the type to marry someone you just met.”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed. “You know nothing about who I am and what I really want in life. I’d like to set something straight: my dog dying and me losing _one_ competition isn’t exactly me being someone other than you thought I was,” Yuuri bluntly stated, “and me _winning_ a few competitions shouldn’t make a difference if you really cared, either. Let’s face it, Matt: you just want to be with someone that can get you notoriety and fame and introduce you to some big-named figure skaters. I can still help with the last bit, though. You’re on speakerphone, and you just talked to him, but I’d like you to meet my wonderful, incredible new husband: Viktor Nikiforov.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then: “… _no way_! Ohmygod Viktor I’m such a huge fan! I’ve seen all of your programs and your-”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Viktor said. “Do you remember what I told you before? Arch nemesis. You hurt my Yuuri, but I suppose I should thank you…partly. I don’t think he would have had the guts to come to Russia if it weren’t for you being such a douchebag to him, so…thanks, I suppose. I’m very happily married now, and I don’t expect that to change.” Viktor squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “Ever.”

They heard the sound of what might have been Matt choking on his words. “Matt, I’m going to let you go now,” Yuuri said. “Have a good rest of your life. I hope you find someone who makes you half as happy as Viktor makes me.”

“…okay,” Matt said quietly.

“Goodbye, Matt. Don’t call again. _Really_ ,” Yuuri said before hanging up. He sighed before turning to Viktor.

“No regrets?” Viktor asked.

“None. Although it would have been really nice to _see_ his face when I told him you were my husband, so maybe I regret not switching the call to Facetime,” Yuuri joked. “Honestly, though…that all needed to be said, and I’m glad I said it.”

“You did well, Yuuri,” Viktor told him, placing a kiss on his temple. “My _husband_ is incredible and can verbally kick my arch nemesis’ butt.”

“I don’t think he needs to be your arch nemesis anymore, Viktor. You’ve already won,” Yuuri said with a chuckle.

“Ah yes, the fair prince has been saved from the evil ex by his…what am I?”

“Court jester?” Yuuri offered with a cheeky grin.

“Yuuri!” Viktor gasped, clasping his hands to his chest in horror. “You’d call your wonderful new husband a _court jester_?”

“Um…yes?” Yuuri said with a laugh.

Viktor pouted for a moment before wrapping Yuuri into one of his octopus hugs. “I suppose that’s why I married you, after all.”

Yuuri hummed happily, curling himself up next to Viktor’s chest. “Viktor?”

“Yes, love?”

“Stay close to me?”

Viktor pressed a kiss to the of Yuuri’s head. “Always,” he agreed.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my story and letting me share it with you! Was Yuuri and Viktor's petty revenge as satisfying for you as it was for me to write? (It might have been my favorite part of the story!)
> 
> Feel free to come flail with me about all things Yuri on Ice on my Tumblr (also EternalAgape)!


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